


honey & venom

by Rosyredlipstick



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Mean girls Au, Mistakes Are Made, Some angst, Victor is Regina George, fight me on this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2019-06-05 03:31:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 46,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15161618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosyredlipstick/pseuds/Rosyredlipstick
Summary: This is a story about teenagers, in high school, and like all teenagers in high school, mistakes are made.-Yuuri is the new transfer student, Victor is oh-so-very gay, Yura needs a better outlet for his anger, and Christophe's abs can tell the weather. Oh, and there's the Homecoming dance, of course.-A loosely based Mean Girls AU





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to rina (tumblr @trueloveorsomething) for looking this over with me!!! <3

“- And I think that’s about it.” The receptionist was nearly breathless, her cheeks flushed as she finished her long-winded speech. “Your orientation packet is in the green folder along with your schedule.” She took a deep breath, and she looked almost as nervous as Yuuri felt. “Welcome to North Shore High School.”

Yuuri kept the folder clenched to his chest, his eyes slightly wide with all the information thrown at him. “Um. Thank you.”

She accepted the words, nodding with a too-grave expression. “Your guide should be by now. She’ll answer any other questions you may have.” Her strained grin only grew more so. “And make sure you don’t get in any…trouble.”

“Oh,” Yuuri swallowed, looking down at the papers in his lap. If he hadn’t already been missing his tiny 300-person high school, this morning’s office visit would have done it ten times over. He bit his lip, still staring down. “I didn’t know I would have a guide.” He was still undecided if that was better - someone to show him around, at least - or worse - with someone literally being forced to hang around him for an entire day as he fumbled his way through the school. He was leaning towards worse.

“We just want our transfers to transition as smoothly as possible into the North Shore community,” Her eye was very, very slightly twitching. “No need for unnecessary… _drama.”_

There was a pause like she was waiting for Yuuri to speak up. He only nodded his head in agreement, noting how relieved she seemed with the action. Strange.

“In order for you to be properly adjusted, we’ve paired you up with another student to show you around.” She gestured towards the stack of papers in the folder, apparently everything Yuuri needed to survive the day. “Remember to get to your classes a bit early to check in with your teachers,” she told him for probably the third time, like he was going to forget. Despite her checklist of things to tell and give him, she kept nervously backtracking. Yuuri wondered what the hell had happened to make her so nervous.

Finally, just as the clock was half an hour before classes started, she moved to dismiss him. Yuuri let out a breath of relief, feeling the emotion strong despite knowing that the worst of it yet to come.

But the assistant wasn’t still finished, apparently, as she stood and fumbled with a sheet of paper before he moved to leave. “You should try out for the Mathletes! They won State a few years ago, you know.” Yuuri was just nodding at this point to as quickly escape as he could, but the assistant seemed pleased with his agreement and shoved a blue flyer towards him. Adding it to his stack of papers, he zipped them up at his bag and turned to face his guide outside the door, biting his lip at her expectant look.

She eyed him for another long moment before jerking her hand out and shaking his hand before he had time to even process it. “I’m Mila. Your official North Shore guide, or whatever.”   

“Yuuri,” he told her, despite her definitely already knowing his name. “So, um,” Yuuri shifted his weight, glancing around at the slowly filling up halls, “What do we actually do on these tours?”

Mila only shrugged at him, “I signed up for the extra credit hour, but I haven’t actually been given anyone yet.” She shot him a wicked grin. “You’re my first, so be gentle with me, okay?”

A rough color almost immediately began climbing up his neck, “I, you -”

“I’m teasing you,” she smiled, “anyways, you’re not exactly my type.”

Before Yuuri could ask any further, a young blond boy marched up to them both, his arms crossed, a glare trained on the girl.

“What are you doing?” He barked, “We were supposed to study before first period!”

“I got called in to give a tour,” Mila shrugged, gesturing towards Yuuri. “Yura, meet Yuuri. Oh wow, that’s gonna get confusing.”

The boy gave her a suspicious look but accepted her words after another moment. He turned to Yuuri, giving him a critical look. Finally, after a long moment of silence, he blew some air into his bangs and spoke.

“How the hell is Mila giving you a tour? She’s almost too gay to function,” Mila didn’t seem bothered by this declaration, only nodding along. “I’ll take over from here, it’s not the buildings that are important anyway.”

Yuuri fumbled with his map as they began to walk away, fully expecting him to follow. He did.

“Uh, what do you mean?” Yuuri shoved the folded paper back into his backpack, nervously adjusting the straps. “That the buildings aren’t important?”

“We’ll make you a new map,” Yura wrinkled his nose at the corner of paper sticking out of the pocket, “because it’s _the people_ you need to watch out for. Everyone knows that.”

“Don’t be so overdramatic now,” Mila rolled her eyes, “getting a bit too much like your cousin.”

The look on Yura’s face was completely outraged at her words, but Mila continued on despite it.

“It’s not like anyone’s gonna push you in front of a bus or something,” Mila felt the need to clarify, “that was only a rumor. But -” She gave Yura a look after he made another noise of outrage, his face still red at Mila’s remark, as she continued to walk on. Vaguely, Yuuri wondered where the hell they were going, but only struggled to keep up with her quick strides. “There _are_ some people to watch out for.”

“Oh,” Yuuri blinked, taking it all in. Back in Hasetsu, there hadn’t been enough students for a proper social structure to happen naturally like in the movies. Sure, there were always the few rich kids who held themselves higher, but nothing like Yura and Mila were describing.

“You have second lunch, right?” Yuuri only nodded in response, letting Mila continue. “Yura and I will make you a new map then.” She stopped then, gesturing towards the nearest classroom. “Here’s your first classroom. Oh, and -” She dug a stack of post-its out of the front pocket of her backpack, scrawling on the pad before peeling off the paper and handed it over. “My number. Yura and I sit in the far corner, we’re not hard to find.”

“Okay,” Yuuri had been contributing the bare minimum to the conversation so far, but even Yura nodded in confirmation at Mila’s words. A strange warm glow heated up his chest - he hadn’t been expecting to make any friends so soon, if at all. It had taken him multiple years before Yuuko and Takeshi considered him apart of their small group, and they were the closest people he’d had. He folded the post-it and tucked it safely away in his pocket. “Um. Thank you.”

“Have fun in Physics,” She shot him a sharp grin, “and good luck.”

He…felt like he would need it.

* * *

He did. Need it, that was. Out of his four classes before lunch - Physics, English, History, and Economics - only one of them had allowed him to skip out on the whole ‘stand in front of the class, say your name, and let the judgment begin’ routine. By the time his lunch rolled around he was mentally - and physically, due to the shoving and bumping crowds - exhausted.

And, he noted as he searched the cafeteria for two familiar faces, it was only half-way through the day. No familiar faces.

Maybe they weren’t there yet. Or maybe they had skipped lunch altogether. Or maybe this was all a hilarious joke and they were sitting at one of the packed tables, where the faces blurred together. His hands tightened on his tray.

Maybe he should just find somewhere quiet and secluded to eat, like the bathroom -

A breath pushed out of his chest as he noticed someone waving at him - Mila waving at him - and relief flooded him. Already feeling the gazes start to collect on him, he rushed in her direction.

Ah. Yuuri had been looking in the wrong corner, it seemed.

“You made it to lunch,” Mila gave him the same sharp grin as he approached, almost impressed. “Good to see you’ve got it in you.”

Yura rolled his eyes at her words, almost annoyed, before gesturing towards the empty seat. “You gonna sit, or what?”

Yuuri took the seat without argument, stupidly grateful he didn’t have to worry anymore about it. He’d seen enough American movies to know that sitting alone, especially on your first day, was a move that could label you as an outcast for high school life.

“Now,” Mila took a bite of her cafeteria spaghetti and spoke through it, “Yura and I promised to show you around.”

“We’re making the final touches on the map,” Yura gestured to an open notebook that laid between them, “But Mila wants to start pointing out people.”

“It’s never too early to learn,” Mila stuck her nose in the air before smirking, “anyways, most of the important stuff will be on paper, but the stories are the fun part.”

Yura waved her to continue on as he pulled the notebook closer to him, scrawling out small boxes and labels.

“Okay, so the first people you’re going to want to avoid are the athletes in general,” Mila waved her hand, gesturing to them as a whole. “It’s _not_ worth the risk. They’re all cocky, overconfident assholes.”

Yura seemed to have a comment at that but seemed to wisely keep it to himself. Mila, almost as if knowing, shot him a look before turning back to Yuuri, pausing in her words.

Mila gave him a critical once-over, looking him over. “The dance team might try and recruit you, but be careful - their moms are notoriously crazy.”

“Noted,” Yuuri told her dryly.

“The art kids aren’t bad,” Mila continued, gesturing towards the next table. “But they’re a dramatic bunch, despite their ongoing feud with the theater department.”

Neither were a problem for Yuuri, considering his own remarkable lack of talent in either of the departments. Mila pointed out a few more with warnings - the soccer team, rich stoners, the band geeks - and small stories along with each. By the end of her long-winded explanation about a tuba and a foreign exchange student, Yuuri felt like he couldn’t look at any of them in the eye anytime soon.

“No one wants to hear that,” Yura scowled, pushing away the notebook for the time being to focus on his lunch. “Just continue.” Mila rolled her eyes at that but did so.

“Next,” Mila jerked her chin towards the table in the near exact middle of the cafeteria, “are the _plastics.”_

Yuuri followed her direction, a bit too aware of how Yura went still next to him, but before he could catch a glimpse of whomever she was singling out next, their vision was blocked.

A boy, skin tanned to a shade a few too dark to be from the sun, walked over to the table Mila was currently pointing out, grinning and laughing wildly as he did so. Around his neck hung an expensive looking camera and from his hand a smartphone, which he was currently using to take a selfie with the table occupants. At the sight of him, Mila cut herself off and tensed up against the table.

Yuuri glanced from the boy to Mila, unsure. “Um. Who’s that?”

“Her mortal enemy,” Yura answered without looking up from his pasta, his voice bored. “If Mila’s gone that angry that quick, it’s probably him.”

Yuuri risked a look over to the other girl, who was still tight and coiled with red-hot emotion. “Um. What?”

Mila finally huffed out a breath, and most of her anger, before turning back to Yuuri. “That’s Phichit Chulanont,” She told him as if he was supposed to have any idea who that was. “He’s not a real plastic but he’s close enough. And watch out -” Mila pointed her fork, heavy with noodles, at Yuuri in warning. “He’s just as dangerous as the rest of them."

“Oh my god, you  _need_ to get over homecoming.” Yuuri winced from the stone glare Yura received in response to that remark, even if Yura didn’t respond to it in the slightest. He only continued over her odd outburst, looking back to the tables spread out before them. “Going back to the _actual_ plastics now. First, with the hair and eyeliner, is Georgi. He falls in love twice a day and is perpetually heartbroken, and probably the most dramatic person you’ll ever meet. If you’re into acting, you better settle for a side role, because he’s hogged every male lead since Freshman year.” Yura turned back to Yuuri. “He’s probably the least dangerous, although he does somehow know everything.”

“It’s his hair,” Mila hissed, “it’s full of secrets.”

“He has something on Mila, although she refuses to tell me what.” Yura shot the other girl an annoyed look. “So if you’ve got something worth hiding, Katsuki, you better get real good at doing so.”

“Next is Christophe Giacometti.” Mila changed the subject quickly, gesturing towards the tall blond man who was leaning over to leer at some varsity athletes players at the next table. “He’s the biggest flirt in the entire school, and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even know how to spell it.”

“I had English with him last semester,” Yura grimaced. “He asked me how to spell _skate.”_

Mila snorted at that, her hand coming up over her grin, but Yuuri only nodded, taking it all in. His gaze fell to the last unnamed figure, and his breath nearly stopped.

“And…” Yuuri cleared his throat, trying not to make his stare so obvious. “Who’s that?”

“That,” Yura clicked his tongue and set down his fork with purpose. “- is the worst, most disgusting, terrible, selfish, two-faced, back-stabbing person I’ve ever met in my entire life.”

“And also Yura’s cousin,” Mila finished for him, tossing her hair over her shoulder to give Yuuri a look. “In other words, that’s Victor Nikiforov.”

* * *

“Victor Nikiforov?” The girl, leaning against a locker, gave the camera an astonished look. “Victor Nikiforov is _flawless.”_

Cut to a crowd of loudly dressed freshman, awe in their eyes. “I hear his hair is insured. Like Jlo.”  

Cutscene to a girl in an ally, leaning in like a secret. “I hear he does sports drink commercials. In _Russia.”_

“One time, he met Kim Kardashian in an airport,” The next girl gave the camera an excited grin. “And she asked if he was a _model.”_

A young boy with a flash of red in his hair appeared next, nearly shaking with excitement. “One time, he almost hit me with his car. It was _awesome.”_

“Why the hell are you asking me about Victor Nikiforov?” Yura glared at the camera, his fists clenching at his sides. “Nikiforov is the worst excuse for a person that I’ve -

* * *

“- ever come across in my entire life,” Yura fumed, “He’s the most shallow and superficial person in this whole place and that says _a lot_ considering some of our peers.”

“He’s the king of the school, the other two are just his lackeys.” Mila told him, “This school runs on Victor Nikiforov. Nothing happens without him _or_ his posse knowing. He’s the ice king of the school.”

“That’s cause he’s an emotionless asshole,” Yura muttered. Mila shot him a quick look, her mouth smoothed out into a line, but said nothing.

Yuuri only blinked back in the face of Yura’s fierce anger, “Wow. He seems like…”

“A prick?” Yura suggested, his fork stabbing into his cafeteria macaroni with visible anger.

“I was gonna say ‘quite a character’ but,” Yuuri’s lips twitched, “sure.”

“Yura can talk about Victor all day,” Mila gave the other boy a look before he could interject. “Which I refuse to spend my entire lunch doing. Yuuri, you’ve got some first-day errands to run, I imagine?”

He thought to the small pile of paperwork he still had to fill out, “Uh, yeah. There’s some.”

She stood, dropping her half-filled bag of chips to the tray. “Let’s get out of here then. I can literally feel the smell of high school start to invade my pores.”

Yura rolled her eyes but followed her example, hardly leaving Yuuri much option. With them two already a few feet from the table, walking towards the tray drop off, Yuuri scrambled to his feet and gathered his things. He began to rush to catch up to them, shoving everything into his backpack with his free hand as he walked, but was interrupted before he could reach them.

“Wait,” a voice called from behind him, causing him to pause as he stepped away. He looked back, realizing with harsh reality on where exactly the voice had come from, and there he was.

He was so much more, this close.

Victor Nikiforov, king of the school, cocked his head to the side, sweeping his eyes over Yuuri’s figure. There was an almost awkward pause, if anything could be considered awkward from the other man. Yuuri gave him a surprised look, half-convinced Victor had been talking to someone completely different, but as he glanced around, there was no one. He shifted his weight uncomfortably, the tray in his hands following the movement. “Yes?” What else could he say?

“You’re like,” Victor blinked up at him once, twice, eyes so blue Yuuri was nearly breathless. “Really pretty.”

He could already feel the rough blush climbing up his neck. “Oh, um. Thank you.”

Victor blinked up at him once more before snapping out of whatever he was in, an interested look spreading across his face. “So you agree. You think you’re really pretty.”

“Um,” Yuuri’s eyes flickered to where Yura and Mila were waiting, their questioning gazes heavy on his figure. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? “Um. I guess?” Yuuri didn’t think he was ugly, at least, but how was he supposed to phrase that to a literal god?

His cheeks were already bright red. Everyone was turning to look at them.

Not that it seemed to bother Victor himself, or the two figures at his sides. Something sparkled in his eyes at Yuuri’s words. He gestured for Yuuri to take the open seat and, seeing much no other choice, he did.

The three of them seemed to consider Yuuri’s unsure words between them, as they shared a private look. Yuuri wondered if that was his dismissal. But before he could step away, Victor continued.

“I haven’t seen you around here,” Victor told him in that careful way of his, his head cocking slightly to the side. “Where have you been hiding?”

Yuuri swallowed, shifting his weight. He had the sudden urge to pull his shirt over his sides. “My family, um, just moved here from Japan. I haven’t been, uh, hiding.”

The blond one, with the dark-colored undercut, gave him a wide-eyed look and leaned in with interest. Christophe, he remembered Yura saying. “But if you’re from Japan, how come you can speak English?”

 _“Oh my god,_ Chris, you can’t just ask someone why they speak English,” Georgi hissed, his eyes flickering up to Yuuri in almost panic. “Ignore him, please. We do.”

“Okay,” Yuuri agreed weakly, hardly able to get out a full sentence in front of them all. They were all polished and posed and perfect - even up close, their faults were limited.

Victor was still staring at him, intense, so much so that Yuuri avoided looking at the other boy completely. Nervously, he tucked a piece of hair behind his ear and readjusted his hands on the bright red lunch tray. He began to slowly stand, wondering if that was the moment he was supposed to leave. Among the three of them, they began to trade quick words. Right. He should definitely go. “I’m just gonna -”

“Yuuri,” His name in Victor’s mouth sounded nearly erotic, even as the other man interrupted him. “We were just talking. Why don’t you sit with us for the rest of the week?”

“Oh, um.” Yuuri glanced away to the front of the cafeteria, where Yura and Mila were probably waiting. “I already -”

“Great!” Georgi interrupted, leaning forward. “We always walk in together after meeting at Christophe’s locker. You know where it is.”

Yuuri really, really didn’t. But, it wasn’t like he was actually going to sit with them, especially after everything Yura and Mila had told him, but he only nodded politely. The three of them continued to stare at him in different emotion - Georgi in something like excitement, Christophe in suggestion, Victor critically - and the silence grew heavy. Yuuri cleared his throat.

“I...have to go,” He said after a long moment, standing. “I’m supposed to arrive early to all my classes to speak to my teachers.”

“Wait,” Christophe leaned in, interrupting his leave, his eyes wide. “I can put my whole fist in my mouth, wanna see?”

“Well, it was nice to meet you,” Georgi interrupted before Yuuri could say anything, his hand holding Chris’s wrist to the table. Despite this, there was almost amusement in Chris’s eyes.

“It was nice talking to you too,” Yuuri told them, because his mother raised him to be polite. The other two returned the words, mostly just repeating them back at him, but Victor only continued to stare at him, blank-faced and critical.

“Consider our offer, Yuuri.” Victor spoke slowly like he was so absolutely sure the importance his words held, and there was no rushing them. “We don’t do this often.”

Yuuri was nearly breathless as he stared back at the other boy, and Victor tilted his chin up, almost like he was trying to show off the strong line of his throat. It worked.

“I’ll think about it,” Yuuri’s voice was a few volumes too low. “Thank you.”

No one in the trio said anything else to that, only turning back to each other in the position they had held before Yuuri’s walked by. At the end of the cafeteria, near the tray drop off, Yura and Mila were waiting with matching looks of confusion.

“What the fuck were you talking with them about?” Yura looked more confused than angry, which was good.

Yuuri shrugged, dumping his tray. “They just invited me to sit with them this week.” Yuuri turned to add his tray to the assembly line but turned back in confusion at their sudden silence - Yuuri hadn’t known either of them long, but neither seemed the type for long silences.

They were both giving him wide-eyed looks of surprise. After another few moments, the line forming behind them grew annoyed.

Yura shot their classmates a obscene gesture before dumping his tray and grabbing Yuuri’s wrist and dragging him along, only waiting a single moment for Mila to do the same. He shot a look over his shoulder as he did so. “What class do you have next?”

“Um,” It was good Yuuri had memorized his schedule two weeks in advance, “Figure drawing.”

“Figure drawing?” Yura repeated, sharing a look of disgust with Mila and shaking his head. “My opinion somehow just dropped for you.”

“I need the art credit,” Yuuri shrugged, “my adviser said it was open.”

Yura _tsked_ , letting go of Yuuri’s wrist and gesturing for Yuuri’s backpack. Compliant, he handed it over, and Yura quickly whisked away Yuuri’s few sheets of papers from the office. After looking over Yuuri’s schedule for a moment, Yura headed off in the other direction. Yuuri scrambled to follow.

“Where-” He nearly crashed into an entwined couple in the hall, both of them shooting him annoyed looks. “Where are we going?”

“You’re getting switched in Ceramics fourth period with Mila and me,” Yura was still looking over the paper as he walked, “you’ll get switched in French after lunch to make it.”

“French?” Yuuri gave him a confused look, “I’m taking Spanish.”

“French,” Yura only confirmed, giving him a bored look. “I’ll explain in a minute, just trust me.”

“Oh. Okay.” Yuuri only said, allowing the younger boy to march them into the adviser’s office, demand the changes, and signed off the classes change himself. It seemed easier than arguing with him, and Yuuri wasn’t that attached to the idea of drawing figures for an entire semester anyways.

Yuuri’s adviser agreed easily enough, if a bit confused at Yura’s strong conviction towards the subject, but allowed the transfer after checking a few papers and signing Yuuri’s documents. It was a bit rushed, mostly due to rapidly ending lunch period, but soon the three of them were dropping their backpacks onto the art room floor. Yura disappeared momentarily, Mila setting up stations for all three of them, while Yuuri tried not to feel too thrown off by the few sudden changes. Mila seemed to already have a small pot made that was in the process of being painted.

Yura returned just as Yuuri was hesitantly lowering himself down at the free desk, and began helping Mila divide tools, giving a tray to Yuuri and himself, Mila a painting set. Yuuri wished he could help somehow, at least be useful, but he had no idea where to begin.

Yura dropped a block of clay at his tray, giving him a look as he began to explain. “There’re no plastics in this class, and I’ve already talked to Ms. Heron about assigning you to our table so it doesn’t look like we’re friends.”

Yuuri gave him a surprised look, “She let you do that?” His face wrinkled in confusion, “And what do you mean? Looking like friends?”

Yura waved away Yuuri’s question before flashing the other boy a smug look, “I’m Ms. Heron’s top student, she lets me do whatever I want.”

Mila shoved him back, rolling her eyes. “It’s _only_ because you agreed to be in her student gallery.”

Yura shrugged nonchalantly, not agreeing or disagreeing.

“Wait,” Yuuri shook his head, mentally sorting through everything. “What are you talking about? And why French?”

Yura shared a quick look with Mila, who nodded. “We had an idea.”

Yuuri gave them an unsure expression, “And?”

Mila’s face was clear as she began to explain. “We think you should take the plastics up on their offer.”

“Wait,” Yuuri gave them a questioning look,  “They just invited me to sit with them. It’s not a big deal, I wasn’t even planning to.”

“It _is_ a big deal,” A strangely bitter look crossed his face, “ _No one’s_ allowed to sit with them unless they’re invited, and no one is _ever_ invited.”

“They obviously want to befriend you,” Mila started, “maybe even add you to their inner group.” She and Yura shared a look, “Usually, the wannabes would just recruit the new popular kids. The plastics have never picked anyone.”

“So you need to sit with them.” Yura finished for him. “You need to befriend them until they consider you one of them.”

“But…” Yuuri couldn’t think of any reason, “why?”

“First, it would be hilarious,” Mila said, Yura nodding along, “and second, this would help us understand why the  _hell_ they think they’re better than us. It’ll be like having a man on the inside.”

“You’ll be a total undercover plastic,” Yura added, like that made it any better.

“I just,” This was all happening so fast. “I don’t think I _can._ They’re all so _perfect.”_

“They would’ve asked you if they didn’t think you had what it took.” Mila shook her head, “they’re cruel, but that’s not their kind of embarrassment.”

Yuuri...hadn’t been expecting this when he walked into the intimidating school this morning, Not even a little bit.

But Yura and Mila had been kind enough to show him around, show him who to be careful around and what clubs to avoid, had been nice enough to consider him a friend and made sure he shared a class with them. Not even Yuuko had gone that far in their friendship.

If they really wanted him to do this, and it would only a few weeks, should he really say no?

“Okay,” Yuuri told them slowly, watching their faces light up in glee. “But you have to help me through this. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“They’re fabulous, but evil,” Mila warned, “you’ll have to be careful.”

“But…” Yuuri trailed off, biting her lip. “They seem really nice. I mean, we’re different people and everything, but they seem okay. Just different interests.”

“If their interests include thinking they’re better than everyone,” Yura muttered as he sank his hands into the untouched block of gray clay. Yuuri followed his example, even though Yuuri had no idea what he was supposed to be doing. After signing off his paper at the beginning of class, Ms. Heron seemed content to let the class do whatever they wanted as long as they kept the mess and noise level down.

“What do I even talk about with them?” Yuuri thought back to their brief conversation, “All I can do is sit there, terrified.”

“I don’t know, just let them talk about themselves or hair products or the Kardashians or something,” Yura made a vague hand gesture, “it’s not like they’re going to be discussing theoretical physics, pick up an issue of _Us Weekly_ and you’ll be able to keep up.”

 _Theoretical physics would be better,_ Yuuri thought, _at least then I could make flashcards._

Yuuri’s thoughts were broken off as another student came in from the back closet, where Yuuri could see a few easels set up and painted pots drying off, and sat down at the table across from them. A majority of the students kept to the front half of the room, mostly talking with each other over the low music and occasionally messing with their projects, but this student completely ignored them all and worked on his own tray.

Mila clicked her tongue as Yuuri’s questioning look and began sifting through her backpack, speaking low as she explained. “That’s Otabek Altin. I’ve been in classes with him since like, seventh grade and I don’t think I’ve ever heard him speak. Totally weird. He spends all his lunch periods in here painting or something, I don’t know. Anyways, Yura has your new map.”

Mila flipped her hair in a small ponytail, back from her shoulder so it wouldn’t fall in her face as she worked. Yura ripped the page from the notebook and slid it between them all as she did so as. Crudely drawn boxes were mapped out on the page, with small captions and labels guiding along the reading process. Yuuri leaned in.

“Most of these will be irrelevant to you,” Yura started, looking over Mila’s handwriting. “There’s the whiny theater kids, the burnouts, the gross-ass band geeks, the Mathletes, the freshmen, and a few more.” He pointed the tables out as he read them each out loud, adding a few notes under the one’s Mila had already scrawled.

Yura paused before pointing to the next table over on the paper map, tapping his fingernail on it for emphasis as he frowned in displeasure. “This is the wanna-be plastics table. The main three sit separately because they’re so fucking special, and no one is allowed to join them.” There was an odd bitterness in his voice as he spoke. “But the wannabes are like, ten times worse because they’re all just so fucking desperate to be cool.”

“There’s the basic few who blur together,” Mila waved them off as if they were too irrelevant to explain, finally cracking up the small paint set and readjusting the pot to better lighting, “basically Anya - Georgi’s girlfriend - and them. The basic bees are lead by JJ, the quarterback of the football team who’s as much as a loud asshole as an obnoxious player, and his girlfriend Isabella.”

Both Yura and Mila rolled their eyes as they added on how both teens lead the celibacy club on campus but explained no further.

“The head cheerleaders are Sara Crispino and Phichit Chulanont, who Mila is obsessed with in equal for two very different reasons,” Yura explained, nodding his head to the girl so she could continue on for him. From her reaction at lunch, Yuuri had a  bit of curiosity at her explanation. Turning to her, he was surprised to see her face already painted with anger. But under all that was something else, something more obvious. He paused in working the clay under his hands and gave her his full attention.

“Oh,” Yuuri recognized that look in her eyes at the other girl’s name. “You and...Sara?” It clearly wasn’t her and Phichit.   

She huffed out a breath, clenching her jaw. Yuuri prepared for her onslaught of words.

“We were _almost_ a thing, if it hadn’t been for that two-faced, backstabbing jerk Phichit.” She scowled, stabbing her paintbrush into her cup of water. “Right before she was about to agree to Prom with me sophomore year, she suddenly got cold feet and backed off and has hardly spoken to me since.” She began aggressively applying the paint, scowling. “Yura said he saw them talking in her car like, an hour before we were supposed to meet. She was crying.” Her fingers clenched around the plastic brush so hard, Yuuri was sure it was going to snap within moments. “I don’t know what that jerk said, and I don’t know how he convinced her to dump me like trash, but I know it was his doing. He’s so fake nice and cheerful but he’s worse than the rest of them. At least with the rest of them, you _know_ they’re venom in honey. Phichit acts like he’s the sugar of the world when he burns like salt.”

The plastic brush finally cracked within her palm, and she dropped the pieces down onto her mat in disgust.

“Cheap brushes,” she muttered, standing to wash the splattered paint from her hand.

Yura gave her a lingering look as she stalked away to the corner sink, cursing the entire time. Shifting his gaze back to Yuuri, he clicked his tongue. “It’s better not to bring up the topic,” he said as if it wasn’t obvious.

Yuuri took mental note of that, while resisting the urge to take _actual_ note of it, and attempted to stay on more neutral topics, such as _how/why/should i/can i even/ do this yura. please explain._

And, with an eyeroll, the other boy did, mostly in a flat voice that was occasionally brought low in anger as he spoke on about this cousin. Mila, strangely, kept to herself mostly for the remaining period of their class, instead focusing on the different colors swirling around on her tray.

“You have French next,” Yura gave him a look as they left, their hands freshly washed of any remaining clay. “Christophe’s in there. He’s dumb, but he tells Victor and Georgi _everything._ Be careful,”

Yuuri bit his lip and nodded, already knowing the classroom and building number. After a few moments of hesitation, he went off.

He arrived a few minutes early and got his paper signed quickly by the teacher waiting outside by the door, a smiling, kind looking middle-aged woman, and repressed his sigh as he turned into the classroom.

“Bonjour!” Christophe grinned widely at Yuuri from his seat in the back of the classroom, not even seeming to notice the crowd of guys gathered around him. Instead, he pushed one straight off their seat, not even giving them a second look, and happily gestured to the now-empty desk next to him. “Yuuri! Sit here!”

Yuuri dipped his head, trying to ignore the sharp glares directed at him, and slid into the chair next to Christophe.

The other boy seemed to give him his full attention, to the annoyance of the boys already around him. “So,” Christophe popped the word, leaning in. “You seem to have caught Victor’s attention. That’s new.”

“Yes,” Yuuri had no idea what to say except to agree. He did seem to catch the other man’s attention, for whatever strange reason. Not thinking of anything else to say, he went with the polite route. “It was nice to meet you and Georgi as well.”

“Oh, Georgi. I love him, but he’s a little bit dramatic,” Christophe shot him a knowing wink, “star of the theater program, haven’t you heard?”

“I’ve only been here a day, so.” Yuuri gave him an obvious look, a bit tired of the lofty way the other man continued to speak to him. At his words, a spark of interest seemed to light within the other man. Almost immediately, Yuuri’s cheeks began to burn. Before he could fumble out an apology, Chris grinned widely.

“Sassy,” Christophe seemed more than amused with this idea, “I like it. Keeps you interesting.”

“That’s…what I thrive to be,” Yuuri barely got out, his previous anxiety soothed only slightly. God, what if he ruined Yura and Mila’s plan so soon, just because he was slightly annoyed? They would _hate_ him. Yuuri cleared his throat, glancing back to the front of the room to check the teacher was still setting up, and turned his attention back on Christophe. The stupid one, Yura had called him. Maybe if Yuuri got to know him, this whole situation would be miles easier.

“Christophe,” He tried, “we should get to know each other. We’re going to be, uh, having lunch this week, right?”

“Right,” Christophe nodded happily before visibly thinking. “Like what do you want to know? Everyone basically knows everything about me.” He shrugged like this in no way bothered him.

“Uh,” Yuuri thought that over, “how about something not many people know about you?” Was that crossing a line? They did just meet each other.

Christophe didn’t seem to find it so, instead continuing to think on it, finger on his chin and all. Finally, he perked up as if finally thinking of something.

“I have something,” Christophe told him, leaning in a bit too close into Yuuri’s space. He dropped his voice, “No one else knows it. You can’t tell anyone.”

Um. Yuuri had been thinking more along the lines ‘I have a sister and here’s an embarrassing story about her’. He had already had the Mari rollercoaster story ready. He didn’t want anything…deep.

Still, it wasn’t like he could back out of it now. And maybe it could help them develop…trust?

“I won’t tell anyone,” Except maybe Yura and Mila, if it was innocent enough. Somehow, from how Christophe painted himself, Yuuri thought it may not be. Christophe nodded and leaned in further until there was no danger of being overheard.

“I have a superpower,” Christophe admitted, his voice low. He glanced around, almost as if to make sure no one was listening in.

Yuuri gave him a strange look, unsure if he was hearing the other man correcting. That…wasn’t what he had been expecting. He repeated it just to be safe. “A superpower?”

Christophe nodded seriously, leaning back just a bit. “It started when I was a freshman and, well, I’ve had it since.”

Yuuri…didn’t know how to respond to that. Except with, “What…can you do?”

“I can tell the weather,” Christophe’s voice was still that same low tone, “you can’t tell anyone.” He repeated.

“I won’t,” That, at least, Yuuri could swear on. Still, “But…what do you mean? That you can tell the weather?” Yuuri was still processing it, “Like, with your mind?”

“It’s like I have ESPN or something. My abs can always tell when it’s going to rain.” Christophe paused, pursing his lips, “Well…they can tell when it’s raining. If I’m outside.”

“That’s…” Yuuri trailed off, staring into Christophe’s wide, earnest eyes. “That’s nice.”

Christophe nodded happily, his eyes sparkling. “It is! Now I always know where to wear my muscle tanks versus my dry clean only.”

Yuuri only stared at him in disbelief, a small voice in his head that only reaffirmed Yura’s previous claim, and continued to stare at the other man until the class’s attention as a whole was brought back to the front of the room by the teacher.

God. Yura hadn’t prepared him for  _that._

They were going to _die_ when Yuuri told them.

* * *

Yuuri next class, Advanced Calculus during last period, was probably the only class he was looking forward to at all.

In Hasetsu, his classes had been higher as well but due to the school’s small budget and smaller staff, he’d grown bored early on with concepts his classmates seemed to struggle with. That didn’t exactly help his high school experience there either, being known as easily better at math, but he counted the boredom as a much worse downside to the situation.

But here, after looking over his recent transcripts and test scores, the office staff had cheerily informed him of his high proficiency level and suggested the Advanced class as an alternative. And Yuuri, who at least tried to hide how excited he was at the idea, accepted gratefully.

It was a small class, it seemed, with only a few kids talking on one side of the room, a few scattered around the room as the passing period went on. He was a bit early, after all.

He spoke to the teacher first, getting his correct forms signed, before the teacher - Ms. Norbury - informed him that she’d redone the seating chart in preparation for his transfer. She seemed used to transfers, at least, unlike the other numerous teachers and office staff that had been eyeing him in suspicion since he arrived.

“You’ll sit here,” She gave him a small smile, gesturing to the third row, far right. “It’s a great seat.”

“Thanks,” he dipped his head, unsure of what else to say. The rest of the students continued to filter in, with most of them giving him obvious looks as they spoke quietly amongst themselves. Yuuri only pushed himself lower into his seat, breathing out, and hoped the class would go quick. Not even math was worth being stared at like that.

Right before the bell rang, when the other students were drifting back to their seats and pulling out supplies, another figure swept through the doorway, across the short patch of carpet, and set their books on the empty desk directly in front of Yuuri. Yuuri froze, and stared.

“Yuuri,” There was almost a note of surprise in Victor’s voice as he stood before him. At the attention, a few of their classmates turned in interest to stare at them both, not that Victor gave them any attention. “You’re in this class.”

Yuuri wasn’t sure if that was a question. It sounded like one. “I mean, I hope so.” Yuuri tried, a weak smile coming to his lips, a small nervous laugh bubbling up his throat. It faltered after a few moments when Victor continued to stare at him.  

Ms. Norbury cleared her throat, giving Victor a look. “Mr. Nikiforov, if you will.”

Whatever her instruction, he seemed to do so by flicking his bangs back and taking his seat, not sparing Yuuri another look. Their classmates continued to stare.

This...was going to be much longer than he thought.

The class, fortunately, was interesting. They had been in the middle of learning integration by parts, a topic he had already checked out on his own, but it was a nice refresher. Even with Victor in front of him, tipping his head to the side in boredom, his fingers rubbing a small piece of his silver hair as he thought, Yuuri managed to somewhat follow the topic. Somewhat.

...Victor had really nice hair.

Ms. Norbury was just wrapping up the lesson as the final bell rang, loud and piercing, and Yuuri - having had his bag packed and ready-to-go for the past ten minutes - jumped up and escaped before Victor could try for another conversation. He was nowhere near the steady mentality that talking to the other man required. Pushing his way through the crowd, he simply focused on finding his locker then finding his friends.

An update, he decided, was needed.

* * *

“Did he really say that?” Mila was huffing for breath through the hand clasped over her mouth, her eyes dancing in amusement as he retold the story. “Oh my god, that’s the _funniest_ thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I always said he was a dumbass,” Yura muttered, blowing hair up into his bangs, looking disgusted despite the small smile that played on his lips.

“I thought you were just being -” Yuuri cut himself off, shaking his head in disbelief as he walked alongside the two. “I don’t know. I didn’t know you were so _right.”_

Yura gave him an unimpressed look, the effect kind of ruined by the number of students brushing and bumping into them as they walked. He turned his displeasure of some other guy, who hadn’t bothered to apologize after knocking harshly into Mila, before he was cut off by Mila’s arm pulling him - and Yuuri - away to one side of the hall.

She cursed under her breath lowly and shoved Yuuri straight behind her into an empty doorway, pulling Yura and a few cursing stray students around her in the same movement. Before Yuuri could make a noise of complaint, he saw why.   

Victor, with Georgi and Christophe at his back, swept by them with a little more than a spare look in their direction, only a slight pause. Still, Yura got a moment of attention, which was more than most people. All three of them paused then, a few feet from them, and were nearly completely in sync - an impressive feat considering both Georgi and Christophe didn’t bother looking up from their phones. Victor gave his cousin a wide, perfect smile. “Ride home, Yura?”

“Fuck off,” The younger boy snarled.

“If you say so,” Victor threw him an unbothered smile, already walking away. “Give Lilia my best!”

“Asshole,” Yura didn’t bother lowering his voice, his face screwed up as he pulled Yuuri back out once they were gone. Mila, at his side, was surprisingly quiet as well. Glancing over, he followed her tense glare to her source of anger.

Sara, with her short team uniform skirt swishing around her tan legs, giggled prettily as she leaned against one of the stone pillars of the entryway, a large, grinning man’s arm resting over her shoulders. Emil, if Yuuri remembered correctly, who played varsity.

“The head cheerleader and the star football player,” Mila spat, her voice coated with poison. “So fucking predictable.”

Behind the couple, Sara’s twin brother waited a few feet away, dressed in his own varsity jersey, scowling. He looked as happy as Mila with the whole situation.

“Why the fuck are they even wearing their uniforms?” Mila scowled, pushing students out of the way through the double doors until they were free of the crowd by the curb. “It’s not like we don’t fucking know how horny they are for school spirit.”

“The pep rally’s later,” Yura told her, the wary note in his voice a tell for how often they had this argument. “By the way, are we going?”

Mila went quiet, still angry but getting more so from Yura’s lack of support. She cut her glare towards Yuuri, expectant.

Yuuri rose one shoulder, unsure. “That’s...stupid? That they don’t just change later?”

Mila stared at him for another moment before finally nodding, a brisk quick movement, and answered Yura. “I’ll pick you up around five.” She told him, adjusting her backpack and getting ready to leave. As a bright yellow school bus rounded the corner, Yura copied her movement. “Yuuri, are you coming to the game?” Yuuri shook his head, already too overwhelmed by one day of school. He didn’t need another entire night.

Mila caught his eye, “Need a ride?”

Yuuri was already shaking his head, gesturing randomly over his shoulder. “I’m walking but, um, thanks.”

She nodded, already turning away, and waved them both off. “Text you later!”

Yura repeated the sentiment, turning away as the bus pulled to the curb. He cut a look to Yuuri, standing with his hands clenching his backpack straps.

“I added my number to your phone,” Yura told him as if bored, “put it to use.”

The other boy boarded the bus before Yuuri could respond, not looking back. Yuuri checked his phone and, sure enough, Yura’s number and a handful of emojis after it.

He smiled slightly at the screen, already feeling better about his future at the school. He pocketed his phone and began walking the short distance, maybe twenty minutes, home.

It wasn’t long before, surprisingly, his peace was ruined.

A convertible, obnoxiously pink and bright and shining under the afternoon sun, pulled up beside him and stopped, obviously waiting for his attention. Turning slowly towards the vehicle, he felt like he wasn’t able to completely comprehend the scene before him, even after his eyes settled for a few long moments.

“Need a ride?” Victor flashed that same perfect grin at him from behind a large pair of sunglasses, nearly knocking Yuuri’s heart out of his chest, and leaned around Christophe in the passenger seat. Yuuri swallowed, suddenly unable to form words.

Georgi, in the backseat, gave him an impatient look. “Well?”

Without a word - Yuuri wasn’t fully sure if he was capable of them at the moment - he rounded the car and settled in behind Victor’s seat. As the door slammed shut behind him, the car jerked forward without much warning, leaving Yuuri scrambling for the seat belt.

“What were you even doing?” Georgi threw the passing sidewalk a dirty look as Yuuri finally settled, his nose wrinkling.

“Um,” Yuuri, squeezed in the backseat of Victor’s convertible with Georgi’s leg against his own, didn’t really know how to answer that question besides the obvious. “I was walking home?”

Christophe turned at that, giving him a startled look from the front seat. “What? Why?”

Yuuri gave him a look of confusion. “To get…home?”

“Oh, Yuuri.” Christophe shared a look with Victor in the front seat, sighing like Yuuri was something especially tragic. “I’ll give you a pass because you’re so new and bright-eyed, but people like us don’t do that.”

“Walk?” Yuuri questioned dumbly, before continuing with another. “What do you mean, people like us?”

Victor answered this time, meeting Yuuri’s confused eyes through the rearview mirror, his sunglasses now tipped up into his hair. “Beautiful people, Yuuri.”

“I…” Yuuri trailed off before shaking his head in confusion. “What?”

Georgi rolled his eyes at him, now fond. “You could have asked any single person in that parking lot for a ride home and I guarantee you’d be set for the rest of the year. You’re a total regulation hottie.”

“It’s a good thing we found you,” Christophe told him, flashing him a quick grin. “Who knows what would have happened? You could have been picked up by a total nerd and been stuck with them for the rest of the year.”

“That would have been…bad.” What else could he say? God, maybe he _should_ pick up an issue of _Us Weekly._ As Victor drove up to the light, Yuuri cleared his throat, a bit desperately. “Turn here.”

Victor followed his quick instructions, leaving Yuuri grateful for the short distance, as Christophe kept up a low conversation about one of their shared classes. Victor, through the rear-view mirror, kept glancing up to eye Yuuri through the glass.

“Right here,” Yuuri told him, breathless, as they approached the new Katsuki inn, still in the finishing period of minor renovations.  

“See you tomorrow,” Georgi gave him a small, friendly smile as he gathered his backpack.

“On Wednesdays we wear pink.” Chris turned to give him a wide grin, his smile edging on a flirt. “So wear something cute, kay?”

“Okay,” his voice was still edged in shock and surprise, “I’ll…try.”

“Don’t try, do.” Victor’s voice made him jump slightly as he got out of the car. He slid his surprised gaze back to the driver’s seat.

Yuuri cleared his throat and remembered Yura’s instructions. He tilted his chin up, just slightly, and nodded. “I will.”

That, at least, seemed to please the other man. There was not much clue to go off otherwise, but Victor did return his nod before reversing out of his driveway and driving off without another look his way.

Yuuri let go of a breath.

He...didn’t own any pink. He certainly didn’t own anything that would match up the plastics version of ‘cute’. And knowing Mari, and her vast dark wardrobe, there was probably nothing pink he could borrow from her closet.

Unlocking his phone, he began typing out a message to Mila.

* * *

“You’ll have to make due,” Mila told him, dumping her armful of brightly colored sweaters across his bed, leaning forward and wrinkling her nose. “I haven’t worn any of this since, like, fifth grade. It’s probably gonna be crazy tight on you.”

Yuuri frowned, pulling his shirt out so it bagged over his front.

After exchanging a few texts last night, where she had agreed to come by early the next morning with a handful of options, he’d been relieved that he hadn’t screwed up their plan so soon. Mila had promised at least a few fitting articles of clothing, but with her words, he was becoming less and less hopeful by the moment.

He picked up a stray sweater, a large sparkly heart sewn to the front. At the sight, they both wrinkled their noses.

“It was a phase,” Mila explained, rolling her eyes. “Some kids have a goth phase. I had a pink one.”

“Better than mine,” Yuuri gave her a small smile, “all I can say is this - ten-year-olds can’t pull off grunge.”

She snorted out a small laugh at that, throwing the sweater over her shoulder in clear dismissal.

“We have to pick up Yura before school,” Mila glanced at her phone clock a bit of time after looking through his options, “we should hurry.”

Yuuri bit his lip, looking over the few they had narrowed down his options to. “I...would never wear one of these.”

“This isn’t about being yourself,” Mila said, giving him a small shrug as she texted. “You have to be a plastic.”

“That’s true,” Yuuri admitted, reaching for the less offending option. They were all horribly tight, being from Mila’s childhood, but this one seemed to be the best option. It was, at least, a stretchy material that would allow him to breathe, and was devoid of any cartoon characters or glitter. His usual low standards felt so impractical and impossible now.

“Best choice,” Mila agreed with a grimace, shoving them all back in her bag. “Get dressed and let’s go, yeah? I can already hear Yura’s complaints.”

Yuuri did so, kissing his mother off in the kitchen and grabbing his backpack, before meeting Mila out in her already running car. Before he even had the chance to slam the door after himself, she was pulling out of the driveway.

“Yura outright refuses to put up with the morning bus crowd,” she explained as she ran past a stop sign, Yuuri’s hands clenched tight on his seatbelt. “I pick him up in the mornings and he buys the iced coffee. It works.”

“Sounds like it does,” Yuuri struggled to get through his clenched teeth, his life flashing before his eyes. “Could you, uh, slow it down?”

Mila gave him an amused look, taking her eyes off the road for probably much too long as she did so. Without checking, she switched lanes and pushed her foot down on the gas. Somewhere, Yuuri’s driver's ed teacher burst into tears.

Soon enough, thank god, Mila was pulling into a nice residential area and into a long, winding driveway. Without hardly even waiting until her car was in park, she beeped twice.

Yuuri glanced around, taking in the luxury home with its white pillars and dark stone, when the large intimidating door began to crack open. But before he could see who was coming through - probably Yura - Mila made a shrill noise of panic.

 _“Get down,”_ She shoved his shoulder deep down into her passenger seat, making hand gestures over his bent figure as he did so. He huffed out a frustrated breath, not really understanding, but bent his knees to further fold himself down. There was a long moment of silence, long enough his back was being to ache, before Mila sighed. She finally let go of his shoulder just as the backseat door yanked open, Yura’s frustrated curses already signify his displeasure at being forced to the back.

Yura was already scowling as he took the backseat, one that was wiped away quickly in favor for a disgusted look as he got a good look at Yuuri, “What the hell are you wearing?”

“It’s Wednesday,” Mila explained before Yuuri could, “and he’s an undercover plastic, remember? He’s got to follow their rules.”

Yura frowned as if remembering. He crossed his arms, scowling. “Victor was throwing around Lilia’s closet looking for some stupid pink jacket,” he muttered, “made a complete mess and didn’t even think about cleaning it up. I had to listen to Lilia bitch about it all breakfast.”

Yuuri gave him a confused look, “Victor was at your place this morning?”

“That’s why I had you get down,” Mila gave him a dumb look, “Victor was coming out to his car.”

“But…” Yuuri still didn’t understand, “Why was he here?” He glanced out to the road, “Why don’t you guys ride together?”

“Like _I’d_ want to be seen with him,” Yura scoffed, Mila’s eyes flickering to his face flash quick in the rear-view mirror.

“It’s complicated,” Yura’s frown smoothed out into a line, “I live with my Aunt Lilia, and Victor lives with her stupid ex-husband Yakov. But he’s always over stealing Lilia’s clothes and makeup. It’s fucking annoying.”

Yuuri thought it over for a moment, “So does that mean you guys used to live together?”

There was a beat of silence.

“Yes,” the younger boy muttered, right before he leaned forward in between the two seats and jerked the radio volume up.

The conversation, it seemed, was over.

* * *

After Mila dropped him off at the front of the school, in the more hidden corner so no one would see him leaving her car, it wasn’t hard to find the plastics.

Mostly, because it wasn’t like they were hiding whatsoever. All Yuuri had to do was follow the crowd, and there they were. Unsure, he messed with the slightly-too-high hem of his borrowed shirt.

Georgi was leaning into his locker, messing with his hair in the mirror glued onto the metal. Christophe was at his side, looking more interested in whatever guy currently talking to him as he messed with the other man’s shirt collar, grinning. Victor, at the end of the three of them, only stared down in disinterest at the phone in his hands.

Yuuri held his breath, shifting around the crowd. His classmates weren’t outright staring at the trio, as they carried their own conversations and messed around in their own lockers, but the trio definitely had some attention on them. Just as he was beginning to weigh his options - walk away and try again later, or walk up to them and hope they remembered him - Christophe looked away from the boy he was talking to and swept his gaze over the crowd. He lit up, and that, if anything, caught the attention of their classmates.

“Yuuri!” Christophe’s voice was full of pure joy, even as he stepped forward. The crowd parted effortlessly for him, and it was easy enough for him to grab Yuuri’s wrist and pull him forward. “You’re here!”

Yuuri’s foot caught on the crowd and he stumbled out as Christophe pulled on his arm with more insistence. Suddenly, the gathered students seemed _much_ more interested in Yuuri. He tried not to too obviously shift under the attention and stood and followed Christophe back to their lockers.

Georgi was still messing with his hair, now spraying it over, but Victor looked up as they walked over. There was a single moment, a few seconds maybe, where Victor met his eyes and they just - they just shared a stare.

Who wouldn’t stare at Victor, if they had the chance?

…Yura, probably.

Christophe dropped his wrist and returned to his previous position against the lockers, the same guy waiting with a too-large grin, and Yuuri was left with Victor’s gaze. After a few moments, he hesitantly looked back to the other man.

Victor was already staring at him, his lips parted, as his eyes flickered down Yuuri’s body. “You’re wearing…that?”

God, had Yuuri just made some horrible, unforgivable fashion mistake? He had tried to choose something that wasn’t at least obscenely tight, nearly impossible with his choices. It wasn’t horrible, despite how the sweater encouraged a slight gap that kept wanting to form between the hem and his jeans.

Yuuri shifted, a bit uncomfortable, not really knowing what to say. “Yes?” It almost wasn’t a question. He cleared his throat, “Is it…um, I can change? It’s not pink but I have a sweatshirt in my locker -” Well, Mila had a sweatshirt in her locker, but same thing. Apparently, they were similar sizes.

“No!” Victor interrupted him, his the apples of his cheeks dusted with a delicate pink. “It’s fine, I just wasn’t expecting it.”

 _Expecting what?_ Yuuri wanted to ask but bit his lip instead.

Victor swallowed, clearly composing himself, before returning back to himself. He reached forward, and calmly plucked a single red strand of hair off his shoulder, looking down at it for a moment. He glanced at Yuuri in clear question, the strand clasped carefully between two fingertips.

“I didn’t have any pink,” Strangely, Yuuri was almost embarrassed to admit that. “I had to borrow it.”

“It’s not really your style,” Now it was Georgi’s turn to give the sweater a critical look, finally looking away from his locker and joining the conversation. “The pants are working fine, but the shirt size isn’t yours at all. It hardly fits, which may have been what you’re going for, and only barely works. Who did you borrow it from?”

“Uh, Mila. She was my transfer guide.” Yuuri struggled to find his words, struggled to wipe the critical looks off their faces. He huffed out a small breath, his voice laced with the end of a joke, “She’s almost too gay to function.”

“Aren’t we all?” Christophe sighed tragically, running a hand through his hair, thankfully breaking the moment. The boy he had been talking to was now gone, but Chris was looking no worse for wear because of it. He winked at another - a different guy - as he walked by.

Georgi frowned at the other man, shutting his locker. “Ihave a girlfriend.”

Christophe rolled his neck back, “Sure. But we both remember drama camp freshman year, don’t we?”

Victor dropped the hair strand then, his gaze still on Yuuri, “Borrow something of mine, next time.” His face was uninterested but wasn’t very much a request. “I…” His eyes flickered down again, and Yuuri’s hands twitched to pull down the fabric over his exposed hips. “I have some things that may fit you well.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri told him softly, unable to breathe in the face of...well... _that face._ From what Yura had already told him about his cousin, this seemed strangely kind of the other man to offer. Yuuri’s chest filled with an odd warm glow.

“Yeah, you definitely need some help with your wardrobe,” Georgi gave him another judgemental look, down to his shoes. “You’re so lucky we found you.”

“ _So_ lucky,” Christophe repeated, leaning in to pick at the fabric. “It’s tight as hell, which I totally approve, but nothing else is working for you.” He wrinkled his nose, “We’d never let you buy this. What else are friends for, if not helping your fashion choices? After all, you wouldn’t buy a new pair of jeans without asking your friends first, would you?”

There was a beat of silence.

“No,” Yuuri drug out the word, completely unsure. “Of course not?”

Christophe only sighed at his uncertainty, “You poor child,” He shook his head, “How have you survived this far?”

Yuuri, already a bit familiar with how to navigate Christophe, only raised an eyebrow at the other man. “Quite well, actually.”

Christophe opened his mouth, probably to continue whatever banter they had going, before Victor turned and shut his locker. The other two snapped into action at that, turning with Victor, their own books already in their arms. Yuuri - who was always lost or behind, it felt like - gave them both a confused look.

“Ready?” Victor paused to give him a steady look. What was he even asking? Yuuri wasn’t sure. Were they just walking to class? Gathering everyone’s attention? It felt like they were almost going into battle, their textbooks held close as protection, their slashing words, smirks, and cold looks all the weapons they needed. What was he even asking, with that word?

But still - with those blue eyes, with that sure steadiness that Yuuri’s eternally unsteady self craved, and those lips glossing around his words  - Yuuri probably would have agreed to anything Victor asked of him.

This...didn’t seem like it was going to be apart of Yura’s plan.

Knowing that, despite that, Yuuri nodded and followed the trio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm hoping to have like, 3 or 4 chapters with around 8-9k chapters. I've got, like, 80 percent of it written already, so updates should be semi-regular. yaaaas.  
> let me know if you like! comments & kudos fuel the writing fire  
> also i listened to the mean girls music was writing this ahhhhhh  
> VICTOR IS REGINA GEORGE also i love character development so STRAP IN! <3  
> Follow me on tumbr at rosyredlipstick.tumblr.com!


	2. Chapter 2

Phichit was in two of his earlier classes, History and Economics back-to-back for third and fourth period, and seemed strangely determined to engage with him.

“Yuuri, right?” Phichit sat in the desk next to him, despite the fact it was usually taken by another student. “I’m Phichit!”

Yuuri nodded back, unsure how friendly he was suppose to act with the other boy. Mila’s attitude towards him had admittedly rubbed off on Yuuri himself, who hadn’t seen much reason to dispute it himself. Despite his silence, Phichit went on undeterred.

Phichit grinned back at him, “How are you settling in here? I’ve seen you hanging around Victor and his people. How are they?”

Maybe the other boy was trying to get some information about the plastics. Yuuri nodded again, his lips pressed together. He didn’t speak to answer the question.

Phichit, apparently waiting for one, didn’t look bothered by Yuuri’s lack of interest. “How are your classes so far?”

Yuuri had no plans to answer the other boy, maybe just start doodling in his notebook, when their history teacher, a loud, grinning man who insisted they all call him Celestino, started up class as he did everyday with some fun fact. Ignoring Phichit’s last question, Yuuri turned his attention to the front of the classroom.

 _Venom_ , Mila had called Phichit. He’d have to be careful.

* * *

“We have some rules, obvs.” Christophe told him, setting down his lunch tray next to him. After only another moment, he pulled out a hand mirror and began examining his perfect eyeliner. Georgi and Victor, on his sides, had already done so when they sat down. Yuuri wondered if he should get in the habit as well, if he was going to be sitting here. “And they’re seriously _so_ important.”

“Oh,” Yuuri dropped his plastic fork, tempted to whip out his notebook for notes. Would they tease him for writing everything down?

Instead, Georgi rolled his eyes. “They’re not _that_ important,” He corrected Christophe, “you’ll at most be like, given some serious side-eye. We’re not gonna shun you or anything.”

“That’s good,” Because what else was he supposed to say? “What are they?”

“Pretty simple stuff,” Georgi reassured him, “uphold all the basic fashion rules, plus a few of our special rules. You already know about Pink Wednesday’s, but you also can’t wear jeans more than twice a week, a scarf more than once, and vests are flat-out banned.” Georgi shook his head almost sadly, “The 2000s were too rough of a time in fashion to repeat their mistakes. Flip flops too, but sandals are fine as long as they’re tasteful.”

How the hell did someone even determine how tasteful a sandal was.

“Okay,” Yuuri finally agreed slowly, because it seemed like they were waiting for him to do so.

“There are some others, but you’ll learn as you go,” Christophe added, snapping his mirror close. “We’re not gonna like, shun you if you break any of them.” He paused, “Although, that’s pretty up to debate if you show up wearing denim overalls.” He shuddered, ignoring the death glare Georgi shot him.

“Overalls are coming back into style,” Georgi hissed, “it’s not _my_ fault you’re behind on fashion.”

“You looked like you were ready to paint a house,” Christophe responded, examining his nails. “Unless, that was the look you were going for?”  

“Okay, but who’s the one who thought neon tracksuits were coming back?” Georgi shot back, crossing his arms.

“I didn’t buy it because I thought it was coming back into style,” Christophe corrected, “I bought it _because_ it said ‘juicy’ on the ass and I’m not one to stop facts from coming to light. Free the truth, Georgi.”

“Oh my god,” Yuuri couldn’t help the laughter that climbed up his throat, grinning widely behind the hand over his face.

Victor rubbed a finger over one of his temples, “Christophe,” his voice was low, “we’re at _lunch.”_

“Prime time to talk about serious cake,” He answered promptly and without even a trace of shame. Yuuri groaned into his hands. “What?” Christophe cut his gaze to Yuuri, a small grin there. “Facts are facts, Yuuri.”

He could only shake his head, not even sure where to begin with a response to that. Maybe with silence, the conversation would die.

He would never be so lucky.

 _“Juicy,”_ Christophe only repeated gleefully before biting into a soft peach, grinning smugly the entire time.

Not even the ancient gods could have stopped the ugly snort that came out of Yuuri’s mouth at that.

* * *

Calculus was quickly becoming Yuuri's favorite class. And, as much as he enjoyed the subject, it wasn't purely for his love of math. But more to do with what was directly in front of him.

Victor never took a single note during class, instead only gazing forward with a bored stare. He would occasionally flip his hair back, only for the lock of silver to fall back to its previous position half over his eye. He didn’t even bother to open his textbook to follow along, only examining his nails like he was above it all. But despite all of this, Yuuri had yet to see more than the occasional red mark on the quizzes Ms. Norbury passed back.

But Yuuri did. Yuuri needed to take lots of carefully organized and spread out pages of notes with color-coded explanations and walkthroughs just to get through a simple explanation on factorials.

He liked math. That in no way meant it was easy.

But his usual notetaking routine might be a problem today, considering he forgot his pencil pack in his locker.

 _Well_ , he glanced towards Victor, _here goes nothing._

Yuuri bit his lip and leaned forward to tap Victor’s shoulder lightly. Victor turned, blank-faced, and waited.

Yuuri swallowed around his suddenly dry throat. “Do you have a pencil I could borrow?”

Victor stared at him for another long moment before handing over the pencil in already in his hand. Yuuri took it, their fingers brushing, and gave him a careful smile in response.

“Keep it,” Victor said after a moment, “just in case.”

“Oh,” Yuuri blinked, “thank you.”

That was...strangely considerate of him.

Victor turned back to the front of the classroom, which was fine because it gave Yuuri better opportunity to stare ahead and absolutely not look at the board. Crap. Wasn’t he supposed to be taking notes? Wasn’t that the whole point?

Victor went the rest of the class as the same, looking bored, and didn’t even seem to notice when the final bell rang and their classmates began filing out.

“Um,” Yuuri cleared his throat, now standing next to Victor’s desk. Victor’s head snapped up to him, almost surprised. “Ready to go, Victor?” They usually walked out of class together.

Victor blinked once at him like he was slowly processing, before standing, his bag coming over his shoulder. He didn’t need to pack up anything because he hadn’t bothered to unpack in the first place, his only exception being the pencil that now sat carefully tucked away in Yuuri’s bag.

He and Victor walked together silently, the noise of an ending school day filling the space between them instead. At Yuuri’s locker, they shared a quick nod - as usual - before Victor continued on to his own.

It was a bit pathetic how much Yuuri looked forward to the small routine - how he and Victor would dip around students as a unit, how occasionally Victor would hold his arm out through the crowd and let Yuuri pass before him.

He couldn’t ever let anyone know the shot of quiet excitement he got from that - it was much too embarrassing.

Yuuri gathered his things quickly and shoved his homework into his backpack, absentmindedly thinking about afternoon plans. The plastics had spoken briefly of possible things to do after school, and his silent phone had been vibrating with groupchat texts since the start of last period. How Georgi and Christophe managed to text so much in class without getting caught, he’ll never know.

He slammed his locker shut and started towards the front of the school where he knew the plastics usually paused. But whereas they were usually already there and posed gracefully on their phones and in low conversation, they weren’t anywhere to be seen.

Yuuri waited a few moments, feeling what felt like everyone’s eyes on him as he did so, and tried not to shift too uncomfortable. God, how did they do it so much? Exist so nonchalantly with an audience?

He was just beginning to consider sending off a text wondering where they were - or was that too needy? What if they canceled their plans altogether and were already on their way home? - when a loud car honk drew his attention to the parking lot.

Where a bright pink convertible was waiting.

Even from a few yards away, Yuuri could see the faint amusement on Victor’s face. If the majority of attention wasn’t already on him, it was now.  

“Get in, loser,” Victor yelled out towards him, a curled, plastic grin on his face. He tipped the sunglasses down his nose, matching amusement in his eyes. “We’re going _shopping.”_

Oh god.

_Shopping?_

Yuuri gulped, but climbed into the backseat.

* * *

“We go to the mall once a week, at least.” Georgi was staring into a small pocket mirror as he spoke, smudging his thick eyeliner expertly. “Our trip today was kind of short, but we usually spend a few hours there.”

God, what could they even _do_ at the mall for a few hours every week?

“Another rule,” Christophe added, “you’ll have to add a photo with us there when we go. What’s your Instagram handle? I tried looking but I couldn’t find one.” A sharp grin crossed his face, “Unless you’ve got a trouble finsta, of course.”

“I don’t have an Instagram,” he told them, already rolling his eyes at the quiet that came over the car. He passed over his unlocked phone, knowing the other boy would be expecting it. “And yes, you can make me one, Christophe.”

From the looks of his phone screen, he was already in the steps of doing so. Christophe scoffed, “What about Twitter? Snapchat? God, _Facebook?”_

“I have a Facebook,” Not even Yuuri was _that_ out of touch, “you can make one of everything else if you want.”

“You have to actually use them,” Christophe warned, his fingers nearly a blur as they tapped away at Yuuri’s screen. “They better not just collect dust.”

“I’ll try,” He conceded, looking out the window. Maybe they’d be more fun than he always thought.

“We’re home,” Victor announced a few minutes later, totally for Yuuri’s sake as Christophe and Georgi were definitely aware.

If he thought Yura’s house was impressive, this was near twice the unnecessary extravagance. Shining cobblestones lead the way up to the doorway, where a bronze door marker hung on the dark, expensive wood. Their bushes were shaped into _swans._

Victor led the way, carelessly cutting through the grass lawn an act that had Yuuri mentally wincing, hearing his mother’s voice in his head, and let himself in. Yuuri, with not much other choice, followed the rest of them into the equally intimidating inside.

An older man, with aluminum foil squares and paste covering his bald head, greeted them at the door. “Vitya,” He said to them all in greeting, standing. “You’re home. How was school?”

“Fine, Yakov.” Victor made a dismissive motion with his hand, towards a hallway. Christophe and Georgi were already headed towards it, leaving him and Victor behind. “We’re hanging out in my room.”

Yakov made a low noise of agreement, readjusting the magazine in his hands. A skating magazine, of all things. He peered towards Yuuri through a pair of clear-rimmed reading glasses. “New friend?”

“Yuuri,” Victor responded stiffly, now turning towards the hallway as a cut-off to the conversation. His father didn’t respond, and Yuuri saw nothing else to do but to follow him out of the room.  
“That’s your dad?” Yuuri asked, glancing back towards the living room as Victor lead them through the house. He and Victor looked nothing alike.

“Yes,” Victor’s voice was a shade too blank, and Yuuri didn’t know what to say about that.

“He seems...nice.” If anything, he did. Yuuri didn’t know what else to say.

“Yakov likes to think he’s a cool dad,” Victor smoothed his hair back, almost nervously, at the thought of his father. “Just ignore him.”

Before Yuuri could add anything else to the conversation - what, he had no idea - Christophe’s yelled out voice interrupted.

“Victor,” he called out from the distance, his voice sing-song. “Get in here, the love of your life is on your bed.”

Yuuri paused, even as Victor’s eyes lit up and he rushed forward towards a cracked open door at the end of the hall. A drop of dread weighed down in his chest as he was left alone. Fuck. Victor was dating someone? Why hadn’t anyone mentioned that yet?

Maybe no one had found it relevant to mention to him. Maybe they were a secret from their classmates.

Fuck. He was completely _not_ interested in facing whatever person was waiting in Victor’s room.

“Yuuri!” Georgi yelled from the bedroom, “Get in here!”

Yuuri took a breath, steeling himself tougher and forcing a stiff smile on his face, and walked forward to completely push through the half-open door.

“Oh,” he breathed out, still in the doorway, “that’s…”

“Meet Makkachin!” Victor was as excited as Yuuri had ever seen, his hands squishing the dog's furry face together. He smiled, and it was luminous.

“It’s a poodle,” Yuuri breathed out. “Oh my god.”

“Do you like poodles?” Victor asked, his face still lit up.

“I...had one when I was younger.” Yuuri fell to his knees in front of the mattress, holding out his hand for Makkachin to sniff. Without a beat of hesitation, the large dog only shoved its nose under Yuuri’s hand and began rubbing itself on it. Yuuri’s other hand came over his mouth in awe.

“He likes you,” Victor gave him a small, real smile. “That’s good.”

“I like him,” Yuuri grinned down at the puppy, who was now exposing its belly. Yuuri’s heart melted in his chest, like hot wax. When he looked up, Victor was already staring at him, the softest expression Yuuri had ever seen in place.

“Yuuri,” Christophe’s voice interrupted the moment, and it took actual effort for Yuuri to tear his gaze away from Victor and to the other boy, who was holding out his phone. “I finished setting up your new accounts.”

“Oh,” Yuuri took the phone with his free hand, the other still buried in Makkachin’s fur, “thanks.”

Yuuri swiped through the new page of apps, all the tiny icons familiar yet completely foreign on his screen.

“I’ve already followed all of our accounts and a few other people at school,” Christophe told him, falling onto Victor’s bed, joining Georgi where he was texting away on his phone. “I just used your most recent photo as your profile pic. Although the distinct lack of nudes was slightly disappointing, I should add.”

Yuuri let out a loud sigh, giving Makkachin one last good pet before standing and giving Christophe a look. “Why the hell would I have nudes on my phone?”

Christophe gave him an affronted look, his hand coming to his chest. “To preserve art, for one?”

Yuuri wasn’t sure if he should be complemented by that. It almost _sounded_ like a compliment. Just then, before he could come up with an adequate response, his phone lit up with a flurry of notifications. Twitter.

Victor stood and leaned in to peer down at the screen. At the sight, he let out a loud sigh.

“North Shore Secrets,” Victor announced for the rest of them, _tsking_ at the screen, “that was fast.”

Both Christophe and Georgi followed that with a long groan, even as Yuuri gave them all a confused look. “What?”

Victor reached over and tapped on Yuuri’s screen, opening up the profile of his newest follower. “It's this horrible gossip Twitter that posts a few times a week, mostly just lies about North Shore students.” He gestured towards the feed, inviting Yuuri to get a closer look.

 _Oh,_ he blinked down at the screen. That....sure was gossip.

Yuuri looked up from the screen, still stuck on one thing. “If it’s lies, why do people pay attention to it?”

Georgi shrugged, “It’s not all lies. And still, it’s usually all pretty juicy.”

“Oh,” Yuuri bit his lip, looking down at the screen cradled in his hands. “Should I...block them?”

At that, Victor let out a small shrug. “You can, it’s up to you. But we usually check it just to keep on top of things.”

“That reminds me,” Christophe began, giving both Victor and Georgi a significant look. “Remember tomorrow?”

Victor’s finger came up to this mouth, almost in thought. “That’s right. I nearly forgot.”

“Tomorrow?” He asked, only to be completely ignored.

“We’ll handle it,” Georgi promised, shooting Christophe a look.  

“Good,” Victor gave them a single satisfied nod before turning to Yuuri as if looking for approval. This was solidified after a few moments when Victor raised a single eyebrow. “Yuuri?”

What was he even being asked? He had no idea, nowhere close to an idea, but still. It wasn’t like Yuuri could say anything to him.

He cleared his throat, his phone falling to his side, and tried to keep the breathlessness out of his voice. “Sure?”

Victor’s small quirked smile better be worth whatever mysterious event he was agreeing to.

Who was he kidding? Of course, it was.

* * *

Hours later, when he was finally home and showered and settling down to do homework in his pajamas, his phone screen lit up with a new notification. A text. 

Christophe had changed his own contact name when he installed the social media apps apparently, and Yuuri wasn’t even surprised it. He kind of wished he was. But other than that, the actual text - a single address - was the cause of confusion.

Yuuri frowned down at the address before another text came through.

 **the hottest ass you’ll ever see:** _Be here at 6.30 before school. shower before you come ;)_  
Yuuri sighed.

>> _why._

He wasn’t expecting an answer, and apparently Christophe didn’t feel the need to provide one, so when he climbed up the steps to a grand, mansion-esque property the next morning - waving off Mari in the distance as she drove off for her morning errands - he had no idea what to expect.

He was a few minutes early, so the immediate swinging open of the door was slightly unexpected, especially after only knocking twice.

Before the other man could say anything, Yuuri gave him an unamused look, “Why am I at a strange house an hour and a half before school starts.”

Christophe, who looked much too awake considering the sun was hardly risen, only rolled his eyes and pulled Yuuri in. “We have important business to attend to. And this is Georgi’s house, it’s closest to the school so we’d have enough time.

“Time for what?” He asked, but Christophe had no answer for him. Instead, Yuuri was dragged up a long staircase and into a brightly lit...bathroom?

“Good,” Georgi sighed as he walked into view, his arms overfilled with bottles and other small products. He dropped them onto the sink and began sorting through them. “We’ve been waiting.”

“I’m here on time,” Yuuri told them both, evidently feeling a bit more comfortable snarking back to them. It was probably the exhaustion. It was definitely the exhaustion. Georgi pushed him down onto the covered toilet seat, readjusting one of the bright lamps to give them more light. Yuuri winced back at the brightness. “What am I even _doing_ here?”

“If you’re going to be one of us,” Christophe finally explained, sparing him no look as he began laying out an array of brushes. “You’ve got to have the _look.”_

“The...look?” Yuuri gave Georgi, who was blending creams and dotting them on Yuuri’s wrist apparently trying to match his skin tone, a suspicious look. “Like what? And where’s Victor?”

“Victor’s busy,” Christophe ignored the first part of his question, instead tossing a wide grin over his shoulder. “He's trusting us to handle this. And after all, we wouldn’t want to ruin his surprise.”

“That’s you, in case you didn’t catch that.” Georgi clarified, gesturing for Yuuri to close his eyes, He did, and almost immediately the other boy began spraying someone all over his skin. Georgi continued to speak as he worked.“You’re smart, Yuuri, but kind of oblivious to everything Victor.” He paused, pulling away suddenly. “Or are you ignoring him? Which is fine, but I don’t think Victor’s ever been ignored in his life. So that would be interesting.”

Yuuri wasn’t fully comprehending everything at this point. “I’m not ignoring Victor!” He sputtered, his eyes still firmly shut. He was almost glad for the lack of eye contact. “I would never! But I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

“Oblivious, then.” Chris interrupted, a grin in his voice. “This is going to be _much_ more fun than I thought.”

* * *

“Done,” Christophe breathed out what felt like hours later, “Georgi, we’re _done.”_

“I’m just saying,” Georgi leaned away from the mirror where he was expertly smudging his eyeliner. “If I was gay? I’d be into this.”

“I _am_ gay,” Christophe gave Yuuri a suggestive grin, “So this is _great_ for me.”

Yuuri only sighed, something that had happened several times over the past hour, and turned towards the floor mirror.

Christophe had thrown him in a fitted black long sleeve, a tight thing with silver gems sewed along the sides that caught the light with every slight twist of his waist. Lace and silk made a majority of the outfit, the fit was odd and close, and clung to every line and curve of his body.

Needless to say, Yuuri had never felt more uncomfortable.

“I think I need a bigger size.” Yuuri bit his lip, pulling up the jeans - as tight as a second skin - to cover the small tease of skin that kept exposing itself. "I don't think this fits right." 

But somehow, Christophe still looked nearly overjoyed.

“Victor is gonna die,” Christophe told him, awe in his voice. “You’re gonna be responsible for his death. He’s gonna see you and the overdose of gay in his system at the sight of you is gonna just totally fucking kill him. Oh my god. I should say my goodbyes.”

If Yuuri hadn’t already been blushing at the exposed sight of himself in the mirror, his cheeks would have flared into color at Christophe’s words. “Stop it,” Yuuri’s cheeks darkened despite it all, “He will not. Don’t say that.”

“Thirty bucks he wouldn’t be able to speak,” Georgi spoke up, leaning down to smooth back Yuuri’s hair. “Chris - hand me that bottle.” 

“Oh my god, you’re totally right.” Christophe passed it over, peering down at Yuuri. “Yuuri, please, I’ll pledge my firstborn to you if you agree to start wearing your hair like this.”

Georgi began smoothing the rest of Yuuri’s hair back from his hair, slicking it back with the product Chris had passed over. Yuuri, staring at his reflection, shifted slightly uncomfortable. He’d always worn his hair in his face, other than the few formal events where his mom would insist otherwise. His face looked so.. _.exposed._ Open.

“You look really great,” Georgi leaned in to reassure, maybe seeing the uncertainty on his face. “Seriously. Your disheveled-hipster-nerd look was totally working before, but you’re a total knockout now.”  
“I expect at least three people to full-on faint,” Christophe told him with a small quirk of his mouth as he leaned against the counter, a brush still held in one of his hands. “Other than Victor, of course.”

“He’s probably not even going to notice,” Yuuri muttered as he stood. Actually, maybe he would notice if only to take note of the designer label Christophe was stuffing him in. Even if it wasn’t Yuuri’s typical style, it was incredibly soft and fitted to his body.

“Oh god,” Georgi gasped out as he checked his phone, and immediately began stuffing his things back into his bag. “We’ve got to go!”

Christophe cursed, apparently forgetting the time as well, before disappearing back into Georgi’s room for a moment. Both of them, thankfully, were ready by the time Yuuri had arrived so it just took a few moments of gathering their backpacks and small items before they were out the door and in Georgi’s Mercedes.

Yuuri sent off a few texts in the short, few minute ride to school, one to his mother in response to her good morning wishes, another to thank Mari once more for the car ride, and one last response to Mila and Yura’s in their groupchat in which they demanded an update.

 _Christophe had me come over his morning,_ he typed, _makeover. ttyl._

He was already looking forward to talking to them later, though he wasn’t sure what to tell him in the update, or whatever. Georgi and Christophe had been surprisingly nice to him since he’d arrived, with the exceptions of some light-hearted teasing, but nothing serious enough to pass on. Their gossip even seemed innocent enough so far - while doing his makeup, the two of them had argued for ten minutes on the name of some cheerleader’s new kitten before finally pulling up her Instagram to settle it. And then they’d spent five more minutes swiping through the pictures and cooing.

Maybe he could wait a bit longer before passing on that update. It wasn’t like he had anything to share.

Georgi pulled into a free parking spot, nicely shaded and close to the door and most likely known as ‘his’ spot if no one had taken it already. The parking lot was busy with the familiar morning rush, but they had no trouble with the congested crowds or lines. Without any problem, they were soon right before the entrance of the school.

The three of them paused before the metal double doors and both of the other boys came over to critically stare at their work until they were satisfied. After checking his phone, Georgi nodded to Christophe and took a step back.

“Walk in with us, a bit ahead,” Christophe instructed, giving him a few last minute fixes - smoothing back his bangs, brushing off Yuuri’s shoulders. “Victor had a meeting with his adviser and he’ll be getting out right now. If we’re lucky, he won’t see you coming until it’s too late.”

“Too late?”

“For something fun to happen,” Georgi’s grin was surprisingly wicked, pushing him towards the large double doors. “Oh, and watch out for trash cans.”

“Trash cans?” Yuuri barely had time to question before he was fully pushed through the double doors, and all eyes were on him.

Chris and Georgi were at his back, an obvious presence that pushed him forward. He quickly straightened his spine, his features smoothing back into the clear expression the three of them usually wore, and he took a breath.

All eyes - or so it felt - were on him.

“There goes one,” Christophe muttered to him just as a smaller Freshman, blond with a bright red streak in his bangs, gasped and fell against his lockers as they came into sight. Yuuri had to force himself to keep walking, mostly with Christophe’s help, and not stop and stare in shock.

“I just want you to know how many gay awakenings you’re causing right now,” Georgi told him in an amused voice, gesturing towards the gathered students. “This is almost worse than the time Christophe wore leather skinny jeans.”

“The Dean called them ‘barely pants’ you know,” Christophe’s voice was much too overjoyed, “They made me change before third period even came around, but what’s done is done.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes, a bit of affection in the action, and continued to walk ahead where Chris and Georgi were guiding him. He already knew where the offices were, mostly thanks to Yura and his last minute schedule changes, so he didn’t need much help. As they were turning down the correct hall, Yuuri realized how perfectly Georgi timed everything, because Victor was just coming out of the office.

“There he is,” Christophe told him in a low voice, an urging hand pushing him forward just slightly. At Georgi’s waved hand, Victor turned and started his way down the hall. “Go get him, Katsuki.”

Yuuri didn’t know what to do, what to say, other than stare back at the other man as he walked towards Yuuri. Victor had the same, blank look on his face except - _except_ his mouth was parted open just slightly, and his eyes weren’t nearly as cold as Yuuri’s had noticed before. It was just slight, but it was something, it was everything.

A small smile curved over Yuuri’s lips, something warm and hot and burning in his chest, and he turned to share a quick, thankful grin with Christophe. At Christophe’s wide, wicked grin, Yuuri’s smile only stretched, and that must have been what done it.

Because in one perfect moment to the next, instead of Victor coming over to them with that small fold in his mask, maybe sharing in Yuuri’s grin, instead Victor slammed straight into an open locker.  
If anything, let this be said - only Victor Nikiforov could crash into a stranger’s locker, wipe out spectacularly, and keep complete grace about the entire event. Even as he sprawled on the tiled floor, his books a mess around them, his light colored pants now faintly dirty, he looked almost like a renaissance painting, posed amongst the chaos.

God. Yuuri had it...bad.

And, from how Victor was staring up at the ceiling in shock - probably at the events that had just happened, maybe in horror - he was in a different but similar state of bad.

Yuuri immediately rushed forward, ignoring the huffs of laughter by Georgi and Christophe behind him, and immediately fell to his knees to help the other boy.

“Victor!” He was at near loss what to do, “Are you okay?”

Victor was staring down at his hands, sitting up now, his mouth open in surprise. He seemed as surprised by the turn of events as Yuuri.

“I’m fine,” Victor breathed out, color coming to his cheeks, and began to quickly gather his books. Yuuri did the same, giving the other boy a look of concern. Papers -- mostly loose leaf notebook sheets but also a brightly colored flyer for something -- had fallen out of one of his folders and Yuuri helped gather them all before standing.

Yuuri helped Victor up as well, their hands clasped together for a too-quick moment, before running his free hand through his hair in worry. Behind them, Georgi made a noise of distress, probably at the possibility of Yuuri’s hair being ruined.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He sucked in his lip, giving the other boy a look of concern. “Do you need to go the nurse?”

Victor looked like he was nearly in a daze, staring at Yuuri. “I’m fine,” he breathed out, clearing his throat after a moment, composing himself. “I, uh, I wasn’t paying attention.”

Behind them, Christophe and Georgi were still losing themselves in bouts of low laughter. Yuuri cut them a glare. Shouldn’t they be concerned about their friend?

“Ignore them,” Victor told him, his voice unnaturally high as he took his books back from Yuuri’s arms. “It’s fine, I’m fine, everything is _fine.”_

“Are you sure?” Yuuri reached out and dusted off the front of Victor’s shirt where some dirt stubbornly remained.  
“I’m _okay_ ,” Victor took a much-needed steadying breath, “It’s just - I - why are you-you're dressed like -”

“Did you forget, Victor?” Christophe came over his shoulder with an innocent look, his hand now on Yuuri’s shoulder. “Tryouts are after school. Our Yuuri has to look the part, doesn’t he?”

“Tryouts?” Yuuri asked in a confused voice, only to be ignored completely. The usual.

“Right,” Victor breathed out, still something of a cutting glare focused on Christophe. Yuuri felt completely lost. “He...does look the part.”

“Right?” Christophe agreed, some suspicious high pitched emotion in his voice. “Georgi and I worked all morning. We were just talking actually, and doesn’t Yuuri look sexy with his hair pushed back?” Christophe’s voice was innocent but the look he shot Victor accompanying it was anything but. “Victor? Don’t you think so?”

Victor’s mouth smoothed out into a thin line, his gaze cold on Christophe’s smug face. Yuuri’s cheeks burned.

“Victor?” Georgi’s voice matched the same tone of voice, a thick layer of innocence coated over his words.

Victor took a deep breath, his eyes flickering away. “Yes,” he finally said, his voice even, “Yuuri looks sexy with his hair pushed back.”

“I have to get to class,” Yuuri blurted out, despite the warning bell not even ringing yet, and dipped from under Christophe’s hand. “I’ll see you guys later!”

Christophe and Georgi both gave him knowing looks as he escaped but neither stopped him. Thank god.

* * *

The staring was getting a bit much.

Yuuri cringed away from the crowd of stares, trying not to let his discomfort show too much. From the plastic’s matching looks of sympathy, it came through despite.

Georgi leaned around Yuuri and met the eyes of some football player who had yet to let his eyes drift, “Jason,” He yelled just enough to be heard over the cafeteria chatter, and Yuuri didn’t think he was imagining how the noise went low at his voice. “How about you keep your creepy-ass eyes to yourself and off Yuuri’s ass? I swear at this point, it’s a crime and we both know - one more strike and you’re back in Juvie.” Georgi gave him a superior look, even as soft laughter began from their peers. Maybe that was on purpose - hardly anything wasn’t with them it seemed. “I’m just trying to look out for you, hun.”

Yuuri main starer - Jason, apparently - stood and stalked out of the cafeteria, a few of his tablemates following.

Yuuri shot Georgi a thankful look despite his blush. If anything, the stares only increased, although this time in curiosity.

Georgi patted his shoulder, “You’ve got to call them out on their bullshit, Katsuki. Otherwise, they’ll walk all over you.” Georgi’s look turned a bit stern, “If you’re gonna be one of us, you’re gonna have to act like it.”

“He’s right,” Victor agreed quietly, his own gaze serious. “You can’t show weakness in front of them, Yuuri.”

He bit his lip, staring back at the other boy. This all felt much too...serious. They were just in high school.

Maybe Victor should go into mindreading business, because his next words were: “They may not seem like much,” he began, his gaze slightly distant. “But if you get knocked down, they won’t hesitate to rip you apart.”

Vaguely, he thought of that Twitter feed he saw yesterday.

“That’s why we’ve got to stick together,” Victor continued, his gaze slowly shifting back. “We watch each other’s backs.”

But -

But even Yuuri had noticed it, sometimes - a few times - where Christophe had rolled his eyes at Victor’s aloofness, or Georgi’s expression turned slightly sour and green with something like jealousy. They stuck together - yes, of course - but...but how far did that run, once they were truly together and alone?

Yuuri bit his lip, Yura and Mila at the forefront of his mind.

“Okay,” he finally said softly.

Victor nodded and turned back to his tray like the conversation never happened, Georgi and Christophe silent. How...how did this trio even begin? Did they form naturally, or did Victor choose them one at a time? How did Victor pick them, if so?

Who watched Victor’s back?

Maybe from how Victor’s gaze went distant and empty, his hollow grin doing the same as he stalked through the halls with them at his back, he wondered the same.

Christophe finally spoke up and pulled his attention back to some online quiz on his phone, but the question remained just slightly in the back of his mind for the rest of lunch. Maybe one day he'd have the courage to ask.

When the lunch bell rang its first bell, he looked up to Victor’s eyes already on him, deep in thought.

“You have your elective after lunch, right?” Victor asked, “Why don’t you just tag along with ours?” Christophe, Georgi, and Victor had each managed to snag the same elective period after lunch, some drama class Gerogi gushed for a full ten minutes about.

Yuuri was already shaking his head. “I have to work on my ceramics project,” Yuuri gave him a look of apology, “Sorry. But I’ll see you in calculus?”

Victor, strangely, looked slightly disappointed but nodded along nonetheless.

“Debate club tryouts are after school,” Christophe gave him a knowing grin before he left, “Be there, okay,  _cheri?_ In classroom 214.”

Yuuri blinked after the other man as he turned and disappeared into the crowd, familiar confusion coming to him. He never fully understood Christophe. Still, he took note of the classroom and braced himself for whatever the plastics had in store for him.

In all the excitement and lingering tiredness from his early morning, he had completely forgotten that he hadn’t seen Mila and Yura yet today.

“Whoa, Katsuki.” Mila gave him an impressed look as he threw his backpack down in the ceramics classroom. “You clean up nice. Christophe got to you, huh?”

Yuuri flashed her a small smile but before he could respond, Yura leaned around her to stare at him.

Yura frowned and gave Yuuri such a strong look of disgust, he automatically shyed back. “You look fake as fuck. What the hell did they do to you?”

Yuuri ran a nervous hand through his hair, suddenly so aware of how he looked. He shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Does it look that bad?”

Mila rolled her eyes and shoved Yura away. “You look great,” she reassured him, giving Yura the death eye. “Yura’s just saying you look like a plastic now.”

Yura scowled but made no motion to correct her.

Yuuri let out a breath, “That’s the point, isn’t it?” He tried, messing with the hem of his shirt.

Mila gave him a kind look as she took out her tray from yesterday’s class. “Yes it is,” she shot Yura a warning look. “He’s just being grumpy.”

Yura muttered under his breath but didn’t resort. Yuuri let out a relieved breath and followed her motions, getting out his previous project to begin class. After a few moments, Mila looked back at him.

She threw her mess of clay back down onto her station, working her fingers through it as she spoke. “So what else is on the plastic agenda today? Staring at bright lights and painting your nails?”

Yuuri felt a prickle of offense at the comment but ignored it. “Apparently I’m going on debate club tryouts after last period,” Yuuri gave them a small shrug, rounding the side of his...bowl? Cup? Maybe a vase. Yuuri looked up at the beat of silence that followed his sentence only to see the other two sharing a significant look. Yuuri swallowed.

“They invited you to try out?” Mila was choosing her words very carefully. “What did they say exactly?”

Yuuri gave her an odd look. “Right before the bell Christophe just told me to go to a classroom after school. Chris mentioned it this morning, and that’s why I had to get ready at his place, I guess.” He cocked his head to the side, “I was surprised. They don’t seem like debate club material.”

Mila snorted at that, leaning back in her chair with a small look of disbelief. Yuuri shot them both a questioning look, which Yura only seemed compelled to comment on. The younger boy huffed out a breath, talking as he rubbed his thumbs along the inside of his statue.

Yuuri was definitely missing something. After voicing that exact thought, Mila and Yura shared a brief look before explaining.

“Debate club,” Yura growled, “is just where all the most popular kids gather to shit talk about the rest of us.”  
“I hardly think they’re discussing what we’re doing on the weekends, Yura,” Mila told him, bored as if repeating herself. “All they’re doing is being fake and toxic with each other for an hour in some random classroom. I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with it.” She turned back to Yuuri, “It’s pretty exclusive. That’s why we were surprised you were invited to join so early. Anyone can try out, but people who are invited to are basically guaranteed. They must really think you’re one of them.” She gave him a sharp grin, “They’ll be spilling their secrets any day now.”  

_One of them._

Yuuri felt vaguely nauseous and turned back to his project, forcing his attention off the other two. “I guess.”

There wasn’t much he could do with his project today, not wanting to risk getting clay all over his borrowed clothes. He had no idea what this audition entailed, but he knew showing up with ruined clothes would _not_ be good.

Yura pounded his fist into the small mountain of clay, a frown pulling on his lips. After a moment, he squeezed a damp sponge over the pile before going back to work on it. Whatever his process was, it seemed to be working.

“What are you making?” Yuuri asked curiously. It didn’t seem to have any noticeable shape yet.

“My project for the student showcase,” Yura muttered, absorbed in his project. “I can’t figure out what it’s supposed to be yet.”

He shared a quick look with Mila, who looked amused. She must be used to this. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Yura gave him an obvious look, “I don’t know what I’m making yet. What don’t you understand?”

Maybe it was because Yuuri lacked any creative bone in his body, but he wasn’t following. But it wasn’t like Yuuri’s understanding was necessary in any form.

“Oh, okay,” Yuuri said like that fixed everything. He shared a quick look with Mila, where the other girl suppressed her wide grin. At least he wasn’t alone.

* * *

“Are you ready for your audition?”

Yuuri looked up from his worksheet Ms. Norbury had handed out where Victor was already staring at him in expectation. “Um. Should I have...prepared something?” God, what if Yuuri needed to make a speech?

Thankfully, Victor only shook his head, leaning further onto Yuuri’s desk from where he was turned around in his desk. “You just have to show up. A few questions, maybe. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

Like that would stop him. “Did you have to audition?”

Victor cocked his head to the side, thinking for a brief moment. “No.”

Great. That was...great. He felt great about going through with this.

“Did Christophe give you the classroom?” Victor asked after a few moments.

Yuuri nodded, thinking back to the wrinkled post-it he had scrawled the number down on. “214, right after school.”

“Don’t be late,” Victor only said before going back to filling out his worksheet.

And he made sure of, as he rushed out of the classroom right when the final bell rang, feeling slightly off for missing his and Victor’s routine. He shoved all his homework in his backpack quickly, slinging it over his shoulder, and rushed off to the classroom Christophe had pointed out earlier.

Where a line was already forming, oddly. Debate club must be popular.

Almost all the set out chairs outside the classroom were filled but a few. He took the closest one, right next to where a student was already intensely preparing. Well. Might as well make conversation, if he was going to be here awhile.

“I’m Yuuri,” He tried, “are you here to audition as well?”

“Seung-gil,” The boy muttered, focusing on his flashcards. “And of course.”

His voice was slightly rough from disuse, but Yuuri didn’t think the emotion was directed at Yuuri himself, but maybe instead of the stack of lined cards cradled in his hands. Wait, was Yuuri suppose to know certain things? God, he should have asked Victor, even if the other boy hadn’t had to audition.

“You...really want to get in?” Yuuri couldn’t help but ask as the other boy began sifting through the cards at lightning speed.

“If I want to get into any respectable pre-law program, I need to be on the debate team.” Seung-gil told him with a tense expression, “I’ve auditioned every semester, and they’ve _yet_ to ask me to actually show my debate skills.”

He did...not know what the group was actually about? Yura and Mila seemed to know easily enough.

Before Yuuri could ask that exact question, a girl - Anya - came to the door and called his name.

Yuuri stood, wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, and followed her into the room.

* * *

"How was it?”

Yuuri almost caught his foot on the door as he stumbled in surprise, looking to the voice. The hallway was cleared out from wanna-be auditioners, including Seung-gil. Yuuri vaguely wondered how his audition went.

Yuuri let out a breath as he heartbeat climbed down, instead leaning against the row of lockers in exhausted. “Long. But I think it went fine. It was mostly generic questions like my grade, where I transferred from, my hobbies. Nothing like I really expected.”

Victor nodded like this was to be expected, “Good.” He pushed himself off the wall, looking much too graceful for such a casual action. “They’ll let you know tomorrow, first period.”

Physics. “Okay,” Yuuri sighed, trying not to let his dishevelment show. “Anyway, I should get going, my parents are expecting me.” Yuuri readjusted his backpack strap and began waving at the other man in goodbye, but Victor only stared back at him in question. Yuuri paused.

Victor blinked at him, “I’m giving you a ride home,” he said plainly. “What do you think I’m doing here?”

“Oh,” Yuuri blinked at him in surprise, “I thought you were just...around, maybe.”

Victor stared at Yuuri like he’d just said something incomprehensible. Finally, he turned on his heel and began walking down the empty hallway, not looking to make sure Yuuri was following. Of course, Yuuri scrambled to follow.

This time, Victor didn’t even have to ask directions on the way home. He must have an incredible memory, even if it was a short ride home. When Victor pulled up to his driveway, and Yuuri’s hand was curled around the car door handle, he paused. He looked back to Victor, lit up by the afternoon sun.

“Do you....” He cleared his throat, “Do you want to come in?”

Victor stared at him for a few moments before reaching over and turning the ignition to _off._ Without another word, he followed Yuuri inside.

Mama was at the counter as they walked in, probably taking stock. Their newly purchased inn was set to open in two weeks and everyone in the household was scrambling for finishing touches. Yet, at their entrance, Mama brightened considerably.  

“Hi, Mama. This is Victor,” Yuuri gestured to the boy as if it wasn’t obvious who Yuuri was talking about. “He’s a friend from school. We’re gonna be in my room, okay?”

Mama greeted them both with a warm smile and tight hug, reaching up to brush Victor hair away from his face when she stood in front of him.

“Are you staying for dinner, Victor?” Mama, of course, looked close to folding Victor up into a small box and carrying him everywhere she went for the rest of her life. “We’re having donburi tonight.”

“Rice bowls,” Yuuri added because Victor probably had no idea what she was offering. “With shrimp and vegetables.”

“I…” Victor cut a look towards Yuuri, almost as if to check with him. At Yuuri’s slight nod, Victor turned back to Mama. “Okay. Thank you.”

Mama beamed. She was always happy to serve another mouth. “Go play, boys. Have fun!” Yuuri winced at her words but nonetheless began edging away. His mother was so embarrassing.

“Keep the door open!” Mama told them as they both turned away, Yuuri leading.

“Mama!” He hissed through clenched teeth, spinning back towards her. _“Really?”_

Mama only shrugged happily, unashamed. “Mari always had to keep the door open for all her friends. It’s only fair.”

Yuuri heaved a great sigh, “Mama -”

“No arguing,” She said sickly sweet, giving them both a warm smile and pat on their cheeks before sweeping off. “Dinner will be ready soon.”

Yuuri turned back to the other boy, a rough blush climbing up his neck, and almost began fumbling out an embarrassed apology right then and there before Yuuri cut his words off in surprise.

Victor was...smiling.

Very softly, probably amused with the whole ordeal, but it was something. A break in his careful blank indifference, one that bled a small smile.

“She seems nice,” He commented quietly. His eyes flickered up to Yuuri’s still-surprised ones. “Your room?”

“This way,” Yuuri told him automatically, a bit frozen at the soft expression on his face, the carefulness in his gaze. Victor could be such a contradiction at times, hot and cold, flame and ocean, both and neither at once.

He shook the thought of out of his head - all thoughts of Victor out of his head - before pushing his bedroom door open and leading the other boy in. Instantly, he cringed.

“Sorry it’s -” He gestured vaguely, not bothering to finish the sentence. Victor could probably tell what he meant.

Victor didn't bother responding to his comment, looking more interested in examining the room itself and its contents. Yuuri hadn’t really realized how cluttered his room had already gotten in their short weeks there - nothing like the clean modern lines of Victor’s own room.

He walked over to Yuuri’s corkboard, a few photos and notes already pinned to the surface.

“Do you miss it?” Victor asked, his fingertip barely grazing the gloss of the photo. It was a generic shot of the Hasetsu skyline, taken by Mari on one of her trips into the city, but Yuuri had liked it enough to print it out. It was nice to have a shot of home where he was setting up his new one.

“Yeah,” Yuuri admitted, “It was quiet and kind of boring but...calm.” He shrugged, “It was peaceful. Everyone knew everyone, which was kind of a nightmare at times, but everyone felt like family that way.”

“That sounds nice,” Victor commented quietly, moving onto the next picture. Him and Yuuko, one of their last photos taken together at the rink. “Girlfriend?”

Yuuri choked on his breath, “What? No. _Definitely_ not.”

Victor raised an almost amused eyebrow. “Definitely not?”

“I mean,” He ran a hand through his hair, “Yuuko and I grew up together. We were like family, not dating material.”

Victor hummed, looking to the next one. Him and Mari, taken when he was pre-teen and her still barely a teenager, with bright green clay masks covering their faces. “And this is?”

“My older sister, Mari. She'll be at dinner later."

Victor continued to the next photo but still commented, “I didn’t know you have a sister,”

Yuuri shrugged, “It hadn’t really come up.”

Not a lot of personal information had come up with them, he realized. His time with Victor had been a complete whirlwind, almost like he was falling forward without any security, but thrilling all the same. Not much time for family talk.

Maybe Victor would have responded to that, or maybe he would have continued looking around Yuuri’s room, but his mother’s voice rang out from the kitchen. He yelled back, promising their arrival in a few moments, before turning back to Victor.

“Dinner’s ready,” Yuuri gave him a small smile, his hand shoved in his back pockets. “You still up for it? You can always fake sick and escape.”

Victor gave him a careful tilt of his head, “Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” He trained his voice to a lower, more completely normal level. “No, I just mean you don’t have to hang out with my family for dinner if you don’t want to. I mean, you probably have other plans or stuff you can do instead.”

“I don’t do anything I don’t want to do,” Victor only told him, nodding towards the doorway. “Lead the way.”

He did so, the noise of his family preparing for dinner as guiding as a map.

Mari _better_ keep her comments to herself.

* * *

“Victor’s got to go now, Mama.” Yuuri tried once again, debating bodily separating them from where his mother had attached herself to Victor’s arm. The other boy, strangely, hadn’t protested at all. The dishes had long since been cleared from dinner, but she wasn’t having any of it.

His mother only made another noise of protest, “It’s late, Vicchan can stay the night -”

“It’s barely seven, Mama. And Victor doesn’t have anything to spend the night, including permission.” Yuuri _refused_ to use the affectionate name his mother had bestowed half-way through dinner. His perpetually blushing cheeks wouldn't be able to handle the shock.

At his completely logical argument, she finally let go of Victor’s arm - only to pull him into a tight hug a few moments later.

God. He was never bringing another friend home, ever. Had it always been this way and he was just blind to it because Yuuko had simply been an extension onto their family? Did Mari have to put up with this?

He made a mental note to ask, even as he finally succeeded in pulling his mother off. Whatever she’d been whispering in Victor’s ear, he didn’t even _want_ to know.

He waved off his mother’s attempts to send Victor home with food - well aware she would be giving him the stink eye for the rest of the night and _perfectly_ okay with it - before the door was finally slamming after them and they were alone for the first time in hours.

“I’m so sorry about my mom,” Yuuri felt like he needed to establish as soon as possible, “I haven’t had any friends over yet and I think she got excited.” Great. Now Yuuri sounded like a loser.

“It’s fine. She was fine.” Victor told him as if to reassure. He went quiet after a few moments, his gaze glued to the porch.

Yuuri gave him a concerned look at the sudden shut-down. “Victor?”

Victor’s gaze flickered up to him, a hesitant flickering movement, before settling on Yuuri’s own. For a few moments, it looked like he was struggling to find his word.

“I had fun,” Victor told him, a rare moment of vulnerability as he bit his lip. Georgi was always lecturing Yuuri on that, telling him he was going to chap them or break the skin.

“I’m glad,” He said, completely honest. “Maybe...maybe we can do this again?” At Victor’s silence, he backtracked. “I mean, you totally don’t have to - I know, you don’t do anything you don’t want to do - but, um, I know Mama likes the company.”

“Only Mama?” Victor gave him an almost amused look, continuing before Yuuri could sputter out another answer. There was something a little less blank on his face, then. “And okay. I will.”

Yuuri didn't even try to keep his beam down. “Okay. That’s - that’s good.”

Victor turned and headed back towards his convertible, the bright color softer under the night's darkness. Right before he dipped through his open car door, Yuuri still on the porch, he paused.

“Goodnight, Yuuri,” He called out as if he wasn’t making Yuuri weak in the knees, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Yuuri repeated back to him, a promise.

* * *

He needed more coffee if he was going to survive as a plastic.

Christophe had insisted on another early morning at Georgi’s, although thankfully not to the extent for his audition. This time, both boys focused more on teaching Yuuri the simple stuff, a quick fifteen-minute routine, and loudly vowed to rip apart his wardrobe one of these days. His jeans and sweatshirt, apparently, were not anywhere up to pare. Although after he accepted the outfit Georgi shoved at him instead, both of them calmed down enough to simply admire Georgi’s taste for skinny jeans.

All of this only translated to one extremely prominent, exceedingly noticeable fact: Yuuri was very, very tired.

But still. If anything were to be the cause for a wake-up call, this probably would be it. 

“Yuuri Katsuki,” Anya folded the small flip of paper in between her long acrylic nails, stopping before him in front of the entire first-period Physics class, minutes before class was to start. “Welcome to Debate Club. I assume the others will tell you everything?”

“Only three people made the cut this semester,” a girl behind him was whispering, “Cao Bin, Glen Coco, and Yuuri!”

Yuuri took the slip of paper, a small index card with his name printed on one side and a time and room number on the other, and blinked at it for a few moments. He nodded at her question, assuming and hoping the same. 

“Thanks,” He could only say, even as she turned and left the room before he could say anything else.

Wow. Okay.

Lunch couldn’t come fast enough after that, even as he told Georgi in their second-period English class when first swearing the other boy to secrecy. Georgi and Victor had Russian fourth period, right before lunch, and Yuuri was strangely excited to tell the other boy himself. Maybe because it was Victor’s strong belief in him, but he was probably the person Yuuri was most excited to tell.

He forewent his usual update stop at Mila’s locker to get to the cafeteria even faster - the other two would understand after he explained himself - and soon enough he was dropping his lunch tray on the table and digging through his pockets as they stared at him in question.

“I got into debate club,” Yuuri held up the index card with a small smile. “Looks like all your work wasn’t for nothing.”

Christophe scoffed but grinned nonetheless. “Of course you got in. You’re basically one of us now, they wouldn’t even have thought _not_ to let you in.”  
Victor nodded in agreement, “I told you. There was no need to worry.”

Yuuri met the other man’s eyes for a brief moment before tearing his gaze away. He couldn’t risk it, especially with his traitorous cheeks flushing patchy-red at every opportunity.

“We’ve got to celebrate,” Georgi added on, giving Yuuri a small smile as he sat. “It’s not every day someone gets in, no matter how guaranteed it was.”

Yuuri returned the soft look, feeling a warmth in his chest. “Thanks, Georgi.” He thought for a moment, “The first meeting, it’s today at five, right?” He had overheard some of the other students talking about it.

Christophe lit up, “We can go to the mall!” He turned on Victor with excitement, “Georgi and I were just saying we needed to redo Yuuri’s wardrobe, this is perfect!”

Victor gave him a critical look, “He does need it,” He only said, “Mall and dinner before the meeting?”

Christophe and Georgi both nodded happily with the plans, but Victor still looked to Yuuri for agreement.

“That sounds great,” He said, because it did. “We’ll leave right after school?”

Victor nodded once, “I’ll ask my cousin if he needs a ride home, but yes.”

Did Victor think Yura was going to take him up on his offer one day? Yuuri pressed the question down, deep. It was none of this business.

“See you then,” Yuuri told them, standing. He was always the first to leave, mostly because he couldn’t be seen walking with Yura and Mila to class.

Victor gave him a long look, something he had been doing more and more it seemed, and gave him a single nod. “See you then.”

* * *

“This is our favorite little Italian place,” Georgi told Yuuri as they each slide into the booth, him and Yuuri on one side, Chris and Victor on the other. “God, it’s like I eat an entire baguette by myself when we come.”

“The carbs _alone,”_ Victor gave him a rare joking look, “it’s totally gonna ruin your hips.”

“What are carbs, anyway?” Christophe asked in an airy voice, “We’re young, who cares?”

“You’re completely right,” Georgi agreed, smearing a thick portion of butter over a slice. “That’s what I’ll tell myself when this entire loaf is gone, anyway.”

They all laughed lowly at that, Georgi truly digging into the bread while they all put in their orders. Yuuri was glad he’d saved up all his wages from working over the summer.

“We always get dinner and hang out before debate club,” Christophe informed him as the waitress took away their menus, “The meeting isn’t till after five because of cheer practice and sports, and once the theater season too, once it starts up -” Georgi nodded happily at that, “but if we’re free, we hang. It’s just not worth it going home.”

Yuuri nodded. That made sense.

“You should know about the people,” Georgi began, suddenly beaming. “The love of my life, Anya, helps lead the group. She’s amazing and beautiful. Phichit and Christophe run the meetings, but she organizes the time and members. Isn’t that incredible?”

Georgi was clearly waiting for his response, “Sure,” He added slowly, risking a look towards Christophe and Victor. The other two, strangely, didn’t look pleased. Both of them took a rare silence.

Georgi beamed back at him, “She’s always so busy because of it, but we always find time for each other.”

There was clearly something up with the other two, but Yuuri didn’t dare bring it up. Instead, he let Georgi steer most of the conversation - mostly about Anya and their relationship - and only chimed in when necessary.

Finally, when their food arrived the other two - mostly Christophe - jumped back into the conversation, talking instead one of their shared classes.

“You’ll come with us when we schedule our classes next semester, Yuuri.” Christophe added off-hand, “We’ve got to make sure we share all the classes we can.”

Would they still be hanging out come next semester? Would Yura and Mila’s plan still be going on then?

He swallowed - a creamy pasta that Victor had quietly recommended that tasted heavenly - and wasn’t sure what to say except for the expected: “Okay.”

Was he imaging Victor’s heavy gaze on his face? Would it be weird if he checked?

God, why did he sit next to Victor anyway? They were only an inch away, their occasionally bumping elbows even less. Victor looked unbothered by the small distance, but Yuuri couldn’t help but feel fire in the inch separating them.

They spoke quietly amongst themselves as they ate, keeping an eye on the clock, before finishing their dinners quickly. They all passed on dessert - Yuuri already gained weight much too easy, he didn’t need the assistance of a triple layer slice of cake - and soon after the bill arrived, Victor was already handing over his card before Yuuri could protest.

“I can pay for mine,” Yuuri told him, his eyebrows pushed together.

Victor gave him a strange look, “Why would you do that?”

What?

Before Yuuri could question that even further, the waitress was returning with the receipt and pen. Georgi took the slip of paper after Victor scribbled his signature at the bottom, looking it over.

After only a few moments, Georgi sighed in defeat and passed the slip of paper over to his side. “I’m too tired to do math. Chris, figure out the tip.” Before Yuuri could offer, Christophe wordlessly took the paper and only looked it over for a single moment.

“It’s eleven dollars,” Christophe took the bills from his wallet, laying them on the counter, before looking back to his handheld mirror. It was a ritual for every meal, apparently.

Yuuri gave the other man a confused look, his hands itching forward. “Do you want me to-”

“No need,” Victor spoke up, standing. “He’s a total nerd. Chris - what’s nineteen times a hundred and twenty?”

There was barely a pause, “Two thousand two hundred and eighty.” He looked bored. “Come on, Nikiforov. Give me a hard one.”

The most surprising part of this interaction, Yuuri thought, was the lack of obvious innuendo. Even _Yuuri_ caught that.

“But...” Yuuri blinked, “I thought…”

“It’s all an act,” Victor explained, warmth in his voice and in his smile. “Chris here is probably the smartest person in that entire school, teachers included.”  
Yuuri processed that for a moment, not understanding.

“But why?” Yuuri was shaking his head, looking at the boy in question. “Why do you pretend?”

“It’s easier,” Christophe shrugged, “People don’t care who you are if you’re just a dumb blond. I can be myself. But if you’re smart - especially if you’re smarter - that’s when things get messy.” He shook his head, “People can deal with different if it doesn’t threaten them, but not otherwise.”  

“But you’re not being yourself if you’re hiding part of who you are,” Yuuri pointed out, his eyebrows together.

“It’s enough for right now.” Christophe shrugged, “It’ll be different once I go off to university. But now, it’s working for me.” He grinned wickedly. “Plus, I get to say a bunch of stupid shit in public and watch people process my words. I once watched Yura slam his own head into a row of lockers because I told him I didn’t know what rocks were. It was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“You…” Yuuri trailed off, “You told me your abs could tell the weather.”

There was a harsh snort, and when Yuuri looked to the others, Victor was holding a hand over his mouth. “You said _what?”_

“Only the rain,” Christophe corrected him, a smile on his lips. “And only when it was already raining. And I’m outside.”

Victor looked almost amused, rolling his eyes. “I honestly don’t know how people don’t know by now.”

Christophe shrugged, still smiling. “I play the ditz well, it seems.”

Yuuri looked down at his hands as their conversation continued, feeling like his world was shoved upside down. It wasn’t just that Christophe was pretending for the whole school, but that they _all_ were, with Georgi’s gentle helpfulness, Christophe’s loud jokes, and Victor’s...everything. That the people Yura and Mila had automatically turned him against weren’t those people at all.

This was going to be a problem. This was going to be trouble.

 _God,_ he would reflect on weeks later, _sometimes he hated when he was right._

* * *

He was five minutes into his first debate club meeting and he was already lost. Even the _words_ were confusing.

“That’s _so_ fetch.”

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“I don’t know, I saw it scrawled on the inside of bathroom stall. It’s like, vintage.” The cheerleader - Kelly - claimed as she filed down her nails, looking bored.

“You use the school bathrooms?” The other girl wrinkled her nose in distaste, “Gross.”

Yuuri turned to Georgi, confusion clear on his face. “What are we doing? Shouldn’t we be like...debating or something?” Mila and Yura had somewhat explained the group to him, but he still wanted an explanation from one of the members. Apparently, they had gotten a lot of things wrong.

Georgi shared an amused glance with someone before turning to explain, “We don’t actually debate in this club, Yuuri. I mean, we have to pretend like, once or twice a semester so administration doesn’t get suspicious, but a few people will usually handle that in advance.”

Yuuri cocked his head to the side, “What do we do here then? If we don’t debate?”

Georgi took a breath, looking somewhat sympathetic, and leaned in closer to Yuuri.

“If it isn’t happening already, then very soon you’re going to have rumors flying around about you,” Georgi told him in a low voice. North Shore Secrets, he remembered. Despite his volume, everyone seemed to be listening in. “This is just where we meet and...take care of it.”

Yuuri’s eyebrows came together in confusion, “What does that mean?”

“Just watch,” was all Georgi said to finish, turning to attention to the head of the group. Phichit and Christophe, like Georgi had claimed at dinner, seemed to be the ones leading the meeting at a desk in the front of the room, their laptops and smartphones glowing in front of them. At their shared side, a single notebook.

“So what’s new?” Georgi asked their peers at a whole, leaning back in his chair and diverting the attention from him and Yuuri. “I’ve already seen some new stuff on the Twitter.”

Christophe and Phichit were invested in their bright screens, but both nodded in attention at Georgi’s words. Christophe was the first one to speak up.

“Isabella’s pregnant,” Christophe sighed, clicking at his laptop mousepad. “Again.”

Said girl threw her hands in the air, huffing. She was one of the only girls who hadn’t had time to change out of her cheerleader uniform, the colors bright in the poorly lit classroom. “I was bloated one day from a heavy lunch! And I’m co-president of the celibacy club, why the hell do these rumors keep flying?”

Victor gave her a rare sympathetic look, taking a seat at Yuuri’s side. “People are obsessed with ruining a perfect picture, Bella. They can’t help but want to see you fall.”

At her side, JJ - her boyfriend, he remembered Mila and Yura telling him - patted her back, “If anyone’s perfect, it’s you, babe.” His voice was the most earnest Yuuri had ever heard, nothing like the loud, booming tone he took on with their classmates.

Isabella shot him a small warm smile and leaned into his touch. She looked to Phichit and Christophe, who seemed to be leading the meeting. “Did you get that email I sent you?”

Phichit nodded, his face flashing different colors from the laptop screen as he switched tabs. “So. New stuff. Isabella sent me a link to a new anonymous confession app,” He nodded in thanks to the girl before continuing, “it’s mostly general stuff so far, saying that JJ or Victor is the hottest guy in school and fighting in the comments. But -” He turned his screen to Christophe so the other man could frown. “They’ve got some concerning rumors sprouting up.”

“Like?”

“There’s one about some petty cheating, some relationship drama.” Phichit winced, “A few about the cheerleaders, uh, getting into trouble on school property.”

Isabella sighed, “Lies, but stuff the administration will want to investigate if they get ahold of it.”

“I’ll get the stuff deleted,” Phichit muttered, clicking and typing away. “Replace?”

Victor hummed, speaking up for the first time in the meeting. As expected, all attention automatically went to him. “The last meeting it was drama kids.” Victor gave a critical look to the jocks, “The football team this time?”

JJ shook his head, “We can’t lose this week’s game. If we’re all fighting with each other, there’s no way we can beat West Central. We can take next months.”

Victor nodded, accepting that, thinking once again. “How about the Preps? They’ve had a quiet year.”

Everyone started to nod along to that, leaving Yuuri confused.

“What are we saying?” Christophe paused, his hands hovering over his keyboard. “They’re having some supposedly low-key get together at one of their houses this weekend. They seem a bit desperate to keep it that way, especially from half their little social circle that they didn’t invite.”

“Use that,” Victor waved him off, turning back to the group. “Anya?”

“I’ll handle it,” The girl said, examining her sharpened nails. “Shouldn’t be hard.”

Georgi shot an adoring look towards the girl, despite her complete lack of acknowledgment. That, along with everything else, left a slightly sick taste in his mouth.

One of the other cheerleaders flipped her hair, leaning in a bit. “What else?”

Phichit was now flicking through his phone at an impossible speed, “Apparently Sara and Emil are on the brink of another break-up. Sounds bad this time.”

The girl in question rolled her eyes from her corner of the circle, “I was pissed he tracked mud into my Porsche, but it was hardly a fight.”

“Again, so sorry about that!”

Sara only looked amused by the other man, “I’ll send you the cleaning bill.”

Phichit clicked his tongue, bringing the attention back to himself. “So are we fanning the flames or shutting them down?”

Sara thought for a quick moment, Emil apparently having no say in the decision. “Kill ‘em.” She decided after a few seconds, “Homecoming’s coming up and I don’t feel like dealing with a bunch of unwanted asks.” She threw Emil a quick look, “We’re going together, right?”

“Of course,” Emil gave her an amused smile, “there’s no one else I’d fake date in this entire school, after all.”

Sara shoved him away, playful, and ignored her brother’s huffs at her side. A small bit of chatter came up with the small lull, and Yuuri gave it all a confused look. He turned to lean in to mutter lowly to Victor. “But I thought Sara and Emil were dating? He’s always going on about head-over-heels he is for her." Even Yuuri, usually on the edge of their social interactions, could tell that.

There was a small moment of silence between them before the other man spoke, his eyes never leaving the screen of his phone, “Wrong twin.”

Yuuri cocked his head to the side, “What?”

“Wrong twin,” he only repeated, looking up briefly to nod ahead their peers were gathered together. Michele, scowling, was towering over the small crowd even as he sat in the plastic chair, his arms crossed as he carefully watched over his sister. His scowl deepened as Emil began playfully poking the other man across his chest, laughing loudly as Michele swatted him away. Sara, with a warm smile on her face as she watched them, looked away as she leaned in closer to inspect Phichit’s glowing phone.

Yuuri blinked, “Oh.”

Victor nodded, once, before standing. “Follow me.”

Yuuri scrambled to his feet to do so, following the other boy as he lead him out the room, down the hall, and into an empty classroom. Yuuri, looking around hesitantly, shifted his weight anxiously.

Victor turned, facing him completely, and dropped his crossed arms. “You need to understand something, Yuuri.”

Yuuri swallowed, everything said in the room still clear in his ears. “Oh?”

“We take care of our own,” Victor told him, something a bit under a promise in this words. “I’ve told you this, but I need you to understand. We’ll fight amongst ourselves, mostly for the drama of it all, but our classmates?” He let out a dry laugh, “They want to see us fail more than anything. We have to be careful. So.” He gave Yuuri a considering look, “Are you one of us?”

Yuuri mouth suddenly felt so incredibly dry, either from his words or Victor’s sole attention on him. “I…” He cleared his throat, Yura and Mila’s plan on the back of his tongue. He swallowed it down, biting his lip, and tried something else, something a bit more true than anything else that he had said so far. “I’m not sure if I know how.”

Yuuri...didn’t want to lie to him. Not at that moment. “I’ve never had a lot of friends,” he continued,  his voice soft. “Especially in back in Japan. There was Yuuko, but she was older and we mostly hung out to skate. When the inn’s business got bad and I had to quit my lessons, I stopped seeing her as much.” There was a long moment of silence, raw. “It was kind of lonely,” Yuuri admitted with a half-shrug.

“I…know how that feels,” Victor stated slowly after a long moment.

Yuuri gave him a surprised look. “But…” He thought back to everyone in that room, their eyes wide as they watched Victor go on, the room nothing but silent as they came to attention at his words. “Everyone adores you.”

Victor’s mouth smoothed out into a thin line, “They’re not...friends.” He told him, “Chris and Georgi, usually, but it’s...rare when we get to be ourselves.” Victor was struggling with his words, so much so Yuuri reached over and grabbed his hand in support. Victor gave him a small, real curve of his mouth.

Yuuri let out a breath and squeezed the hand in his own. Victor’s skin was so warm and soft, the bones delicate and strong.

“Okay,” he breathed out, an answer to his earlier question. “But let's be ourselves together.”

Even if it was small and barely there, Victor’s smile was genuine and soft and as beaming as Yuuri had ever seen.

This was going to end so badly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> o.....yuuri........how do you think this is gonna end....  
> im sorry but the mental image of christophe explaining to yura he doesn't know what rocks are has had me crackling into laughter for at least an hour  
> also victor is a useless gay who gave away his only pencil to yuuri bc he asked for it. chris laughs till he cries when victor has to ask for another the next day before school.  
> everytime yuuri and victor have some long sexual tension stare off just image chris and georgi in the background like,,,,lenny facing  
> editing this literally took 3 hours because my laptop kept freezing jfc. sorry if i missed any mistakes but by the 4th time my laptop froze and i had to start over i was v over it  
> also reading this thru i feel like im not getting enough mean girl vibes through. i apologize & i will do better  
> mean girls musical 4 life.  
> let u know if you're enjoying!!! validation makes me thrive like a small sun flower <333  
> follow me on tumblr at rosyredlipstick.tumblr.com


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eternally grateful to my beta and friend rina, who you can find on tumblr @oreychori...again im so sorry for the toaster scroodle

“How was your little club?” Mama asked as she handed over a much-too-full plate. He hardly ate much breakfast but never that stopped her.  “Our Vicchan is in it too, yes?”

“It was fine,” Yuuri said automatically, because his parents worried, and ignored the ‘our’ portion of the sentence. “And yes, Victor’s in it. It’s...fun.”

Was debate club fun? Probably not, but it did seem like the kind of thing they’d want to hear. If anything, they’d be happy he was fitting in well enough, despite the other three of them standing out the most.

“That’s nice, son.” His father only said, smiling happily, before going back to his fried eggs and rice.

Yuuri thought over his father’s brief words. It was, he realized, it really was.

* * *

“--and that’s about all that happened, I think.” Yuuri finished off later that day in Ceramics, both Mila and Yura staring at him intently as he recounted his afternoon as clearly as possible. He’d told them nearly everything -- everything except him and Victor’s private talk. That...wasn’t relevant, he decided.

Mila leaned back in her chair, a considering look on her face as she processed all the information Yuuri had spilled. After a few moments, she looked back to him.

“How do they pick who gets in?” Mila frowned, “It seems so random at times. Like, Cao Bin? I don’t think I’ve ever even _seen_ him.”

“It’s whoever gets rumors about them,” Yuuri shrugged. “Apparently he had some bad gossip about him last semester?”

Yura nodded at that after a moment of thought. “I remember that. He disappeared for like a year afterward.”

“Seung-gil’s gonna be so pissed,” Mila snorted, “He’s been trying to get on debate club since freshman year.”

A bubble of panic grew in his throat, sudden and breathtaking. “You can’t tell him,” Yuuri rushed out, his hands clenching down on the edge of his desk. “He’ll tell people, and they’ll know it was me, you can’t tell him or _anyone.”_

Mila gave him an odd look, holding her hands up in surrender. “Whoa, we’re not! I just was kidding. We wouldn’t compromise the mission, or whatever.”

Yuuri let out a slow breath, his jumping heartbeat returning to normal.

“But…” Mila trailed off sharing a look with Yura, “What do they actually do? I don’t get it. So they just talk about rumors?”

It wouldn’t hurt too much to tell them, right? And they already promised not to say anything...

“They track all the rumors about each other,” Yuuri began, “from the Twitter, mostly, but also from other apps and from what they hear around. They just write down all of them and talk about and how they’re gonna fight them or replace them,” Yuuri shrugged. “I guess it keeps gossip from getting out of control or, at least, where they don’t want it to go. Like, they’ll cause some drama in a clique to keep some rumors from getting out.”

“So they’re controlling everything?” Mila sounded nearly disgusted with it all.

Yuuri had to resist the urge to bite his lip. He couldn’t defend them, could he? “They’re not that bad,” he tried, a wince already in place for whatever insult Yura would have on the tip of his tongue.

At his silence, both he and Mila turned to face the other boy. He looked deep in thought as he chewed on the end of his pen, his eyes glued to a patch of his desk.

Finally, when he spoke, his voice was low and serious. “You _have_ to get that notebook.”

Yuuri blinked back in surprise, “What?”

“You have to get that notebook,” he repeated, his eyes wide with the realization, “that notebook, it’s where all the plastics keep track of rumors, which ones are right and wrong and how to handle them, right? If we get it, we can post pictures of it online and everyone will see how truly vapid and manipulative all of them are. They can see the _truth._ People will stop worshipping the ground they fucking walk on. People will _know.”_

“Post it...online?” Yuuri was already shaking his head, nearly in horror. “No, I couldn’t, that would - that would totally ruin the plan!”

“You have to ruin the plan at one point,” Yura pointed out. “You’re not gonna have to hang out with them forever, you know. You get the notebook, expose them, and you can finally stop hanging out with them.”

“That…” Mila was nodding as she thought it through, “That would work! God, you said Phichit and Christophe run these stupid meetings? Everyone would totally hate them for interfering with their lives!”

Yura rolled his eyes but still nodded along.

“They wouldn’t be able to hide anymore,” Mila muttered, “no one would.”

No one would. Not even Yuuri, among the trio.

Yuuri stood, his hands barely shaking. They both cut off their plans, looking up at him curiously.

“I have to go,” he breathed out, not even bothering to put away his tray, only grabbing his backpack and fleeing. Mila called after him but he ignored it, instead high-tailing it out of the room and not looking back.

They were right, of course. Yuuri wouldn’t be able to hide anymore, and he didn’t realize how quickly all that was becoming his nightmare.

How would that even work? Would Yuuri never speak to Victor’s group again? Would the entire school shun him, or just the debate club? He’d just have Mila and Yura -- who were great, of course -- and no one else?

Would Victor ignore him?  
That seemed to be the worst outcome of it all, and of course was the one Yuuri’s brain decided to zero-in on during the entirety of French. He’d have to ask Christophe, who surely didn’t take notes but definitely already knew what was covered, to help him study.

Still, the thought remained throughout it all. He wondered if it would ever disappear, or if it would simply remain in the back of his mind until it forced itself into existence.

* * *

The next two and a half weeks Yuuri spent nearly fully immersed with Victor’s group, all gossip and quick-talk and clothes and makeup.

Debate club once a week, the daily after-school hangouts with Victor, Georgi, and Christophe, his secret meetings with Mila and Yura, his work at the inn, and his schoolwork was starting to all overwhelm him.

Calculus, thankfully, was always a haven for him. Even through Ms. Norbury’s lesson, just the occasional acknowledgment from Victor, the smallest grin from the other man, would cheer his mood considerably. Even when Ms. Norbury passed out a batch of surprise worksheets, his mood remained semi-upbeat.

Yuuri took the blank worksheet with a nod before quickly starting. This week’s lesson wasn’t difficult at all, but it was definitely much too time-consuming to leave it all for later.

Victor turned around in his chair, his elbow resting on Yuuri’s desk. “What’s today?”  
“October 3rd,” Yuuri muttered, still scribbling down on his worksheet. In front of him, Victor sighed heavily, almost fondly, at something, Yuuri didn’t bother to look up, finishing up the rest of the problem. He gave the page a satisfied grin as the numbers came together, wiping off the eraser marks. Victor sighed once more, and this time Yuuri looked up in question.

A rare burst of color flared in Victor’s cheeks, looking surprised by Yuuri’s rare attention in class. He blinked at him but before he could say anything, a figure shadowed over them.

Ms. Norbury, passing out their last quizzes, paused for a moment to hand back his quiz, a spark in his eyes. “Impressive, Katsuki.” Norbury had been worried Yuuri wouldn’t be able to keep up with the coursework, he remembered. His eyes flickered down to the paper - only two minor mistakes. Hm. Not bad, but still.

Yuuri dipped his head, muttering out a thanks, and shoved the paper under a folder as the older woman continued her rounds. But not quick enough apparently, as Victor straightened up in interest.

Victor blinked down to the pile of folders Yuuri’s paper had disappeared under. “You’re good at math? Like, really good at this stuff?”

Yuuri’s pen paused mid-scribble, and he cast a hesitant look up towards the other boy, “Um. I guess? This is Advanced Calculus.”  

Victor leaned forward, suddenly overcome with an idea. Impossibly, his eyes seemed to shine with a subtle excitement. Despite this, his words were even. “Teach me.”  

Yuuri’s eyes flickered to the stapled papers on Victor’s desk, lying on his desk. “But you got a higher score than me on the quiz.”

In a single, swift movement, all of Victor’s papers fluttered to the ground.

“I probably cheated,” Victor told him cheerfully, now leaning forward on both elbows balanced on Yuuri’s desk. “So teach me?”

“Like…” Yuuri trailed off, “Like tutoring?”

“Exactly like tutoring,” Victor was nearly beaming, as close as he got to the emotion in public. Had they been alone, it would have been brilliant, Yuuri knew. “We can go over the homework for like, three hours every day after school. And then we can get dinner because we’ll probably be hungry. If you want.”

Yuuri gave him a humoring look, “Everyday? That seems a bit excessive.” He thought over his schedule, “How about once a week? Thursdays?”

“We can start today,” Victor’s face was as clear as ever, but his eyes were beaming. “The projection room above the auditorium is free after school.”

“That’s...specific,” Yuuri shrugged. “But I guess it works. Sure.” He went back to looking over his worksheet, a small grin in place at the high grade.

“Why do you enjoy math so much anyway?” Victor asked him after a few moments, his voice nonchalant even as his gaze refused to flicker away. “Most people think it’s...nerdy. Or something.”

Yuuri had heard similar taunts when he was a kid as well. He had no idea if Victor had been subjected to the same treatment, but it seemed unlikely somehow.

Still, Yuuri dipped his head in slight embarrassment. “It’s the same in every country,” He traced the cover of his textbook with his fingernail, “Numbers are a constant everywhere.”  
When he glanced up, Victor looked nearly stricken, his eyes wide. “That’s beautiful.”

Ms. Norbury called their attention back to the front of the room for a few final notes before the end of the hour -- and the school day -- were up. Soon, the end-of-the-day announcements were over, with Phichit’s voice tiny and static over the crappy school intercom, and they were standing to leave.

Victor, of course, packed up much sooner due to his lack of supplies. Maybe that’d be their first thing covered in tutoring -- Victor’s lack of notetaking.

Victor’s face smoothed back into one of indifference as he stood with his things and turned out of the classroom into the hall, but still waited a half-beat for Yuuri to rush to his side. Yuuri shot him a grateful look.

“We can grab our books and head towards the auditorium,” Victor said, still looking ahead and disinterested as the crowd nearly pared for him. “Chris and Georgi drove together today.”

“Let me call my mom,” Yuuri rolled his eyes. “If I don’t, she’ll freak out.”

Victor nodded and kept going to his own locker.  Yuuri broke off and turned the corner for some privacy -- not like there was much in the full hallway.

“Hi Mama,” He curled a bit around the phone to block out of the noise of the crowd. “I’m tutoring Victor after school today. We’ll be done around four.”

Already, his mother’s voice was perking up. “Vicchan is coming over afterward?” Despite the slight question at the end, this was more of a statement. “I can thaw the frozen pork for some noodles and rice --”

“Mama,” He interrupted, “he might have plans with his own family, but I can ask. I’ll let you know, okay?”

She agreed easily enough, thankfully, and Yuuri pushed himself off the wall and began heading back to his locker. After dumping off his supplies and packing up his bag, he turned towards the hall to head for Victor.

Or, at least, he tried to.

“Hi Yuuri!” Phichit slid into his viewpoint before Yuuri could do anything else, like run. He grinned brightly, “Are you doing anything? I was thinking of going on a Starbucks run, and I could use the company -”

“Busy,” Yuuri muttered, dipping his head as he sidestepped the other boy.

“Another time -?” Phichit started and cut himself off as Yuuri continued walking forward.

“Hey,” Yuuri grinned at Victor as he approached, the other boy ready and leaning against a locker looking aloof. “Ready?”

Victor gave him a crisp nod, readjusted the strap of his leather bag, and lead the way.

The room was quite out of the way, nearly hidden honestly, but Victor seemed to be familiar with the way and flipped on the lights without hesitation.

“We can work here,” Victor gestured towards the bare wooden table pushed to the side and pulled them up a pair of chairs. Yuuri took one with a small smile and got comfortable, Victor joining him across.

“Alright,” Yuuri laid out his notebooks and papers. “What are you comfortable with?”

Victor hummed, “Absolutely nothing. It’s probably best we start from the complete beginning.”

Yuuri pressed his lips together before pulling his textbook closer to flip it open. “Well, okay. Let’s get started.”

An hour and a half later, Yuuri was leaning back in his chair, wide-eyed. “I…” He tried, “Victor, you’re in _advanced calculus.”_

“Yup,” Victor popped the word, looking down to his supplies as he began packing everything up. “I...am. Yes.”

“How,” Yuuri shook his head, “how have you been passing?”

Victor shrugged, somehow happily. “Luck?” He guessed.

Yuuri rubbed a hand over his face, “Okay, first thing -” He pointed at the other boy, “you’ve got to start taking notes in class, alright? We can meet and compare them afterward, but it’s good to at least get the info flowing through your mind.” He frowned briefly, “Maybe we should schedule more meetings before quizzes and tests.”

“Definitely,” Victor agreed, suddenly serious. “I completely agree. Maybe at your house too?”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Yuuri pulled out his phone and made a face at all the texts from his mother. “Mama wants to know if you want to come for dinner tonight. Although, I can’t promise she won’t try to adopt you again.” As he spoke, he started to pack up his supplies but paused at the silence his statement was met with. He looked over to Victor in question, who was already staring at him.

“I’ve -” Victor paused and pressed his lips together. “I have a prior commitment.”

“Oh,” Yuuri tried not to too visibly deflate. That made sense, obviously. “Sorry. I mean, it was stupid to ask. I’ll -”

“It’s family dinner,” Victor interrupted, staring down at his own clenched hands. “Once a month with Yura and Lilia.”

Oh,” Yuuri repeated for the second time, and he really needed to start saying something else. “That’s, um, nice.”

With how Victor’s lips continued to press together, his hands now turning white, it probably wasn’t.

“It’s just-” Victor cut himself off with a sigh, “I have to go. And I know it’s going to be tense and awkward and horrible no matter what I do.” His voice went quiet, “I’d much rather go to your house if it counts for anything.”

Without thinking, Yuuri reached out and clenched at Victor’s folded hand. “I hope it goes well,” Yuuri told him with genuine emotion. “Family’s hard sometimes. But…” Yuuri squeezed his hand, “It’s usually worth it. I hope it works out.”

Victor stared at him for a long moment, “Okay.” His gaze fell on the table between them, on this hands. “Thank you, Yuuri. I…” He seemed to struggle with the word and cleared his throat. “I hope so too.”

“C’mon,” Yuuri pulled away, his hand suddenly feeling so lacking without Victor’s warmth under it, and pulled his backpack strap over his shoulder. “If we split a frozen yogurt, it won’t ruin our dinners.”

Victor stood, something hopeful in his eyes. “Cherry?” He bit his lip, “with almonds?”

Yuuri would have preferred something drowned in chocolate, but again, it wasn’t like Yuuri was in the interest of denial when it came to Victor Nikiforov.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” He smiled. “Let’s go.”

* * *

It was six A.M. and Yuuri had already drained two cups of coffee.

How the hell did the others do it -- get up so early, he means -- and so happily at that? Christophe always talked about his green tea routine like it was the personal savior of his religion. He’d been abiding by their routine for nearly three weeks now -- surely his body would have to get used to it at some point.

He tipped back the rest of his cup and wiped his face down. Christophe had painstakingly written out detailed instructions and product names for his morning routine, and Yuuri was absolutely convinced that the other boy would _know_ if Yuuri skipped even a single step.  

He was just finishing up the primer -- a light green goo that smelt vaguely floral -- when he heard the floorboards creak behind him. When he looked back, Mari was staring at him with a raised eyebrow, her bedhead still untamed at the hour.

“You’re up early,” Mari remarked, leaning against the doorway.

Yuuri was unscrewing the cap of a small tub, one of the many products Chris had picked out laid before him. He shot her a quick look before turning back and rubbing a dime of cream over his cheeks, “I’ve got to get ready for school.”

Mari went silent, “School isn’t for another two hours, though.” She clicked her tongue, apparently questioning.” You love sleep. This isn’t like the Yuuri I know.”

Yuuri let out a sharp sigh and looked over his shoulder, annoyed with the conversation so early in the morning. Just because he was awake didn’t mean he wanted to be. She was probably joking, yes, but her aloof, all-knowing matter grated on his tired nerves. “I love looking nice too, Mari. Anything else?”

It wasn’t like she’d understand, and he was _definitely_ not explaining any of the plan to her. This would go quicker if she would just leave well enough alone.

There was a long period of silence from the other girl as she watched him, still chewing the end of her straw. After another few moments, she wordlessly left.

Yuuri sighed, ignoring the small pang in his chest at the interaction, and pulled the mirror closer to his face.

* * *

Lunch, that day, was an ordeal.

“The infamous North Shore high Halloween party is coming up,” Christophe grinned widely through his announcement as he dropped his tray to the table. “Hosted by yours truly, of course.”

“One year, they say it was haunted by this evil ghost bride,” Georgi added, “maybe we’ll break out a Ouija board and try to contact her! It’ll be so fetch.”

“You’re all such white people,” Yuuri muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “We’re _not_ gonna do that. No.”

“Do you have any ideas, Yuuri?” His eyes looked to Victor, with one hand tucked under his cheek, the other stirring his yogurt. “On your costume?”

Yuuri had to blink a few times, as usual. “Um,” He tried to think, “I...have no idea, honestly.”

“You can always borrow one of mine.” Christophe’s grin turned a shade devilish, “I have many costumes to choose from.”

“Nope,” Yuuri popped the end of the word, “not a chance.”

“Really?” Christophe pouted, “I’d like to see you in a few of them, and I know I’m not the only one.” He rolled his head to Victor, who was nearly glaring at the other boy, now paused in his yogurt stirring. “What do you think, Victor? The firefighter costume? Or the gladiator one? Personally, I think I may be leaning towards the sparkly vampire look --”

“It’s irrelevant,” Yuuri interrupted before Christophe could go on. “Because I’m not wearing any of them.”

Christophe sighed something great but leaned back without any further protest. Thankfully, Georgi was able to engage with him some topic so he was distracted enough to let it drop.

Yuuri let his shoulders drop, unaware they had even gotten so tense, and looked back to Victor, who was giving him a considering look.

“I have an idea,” Victor told him quietly, glancing towards Christophe. “Let’s talk about it later, okay?”

A small bubble of happy, content emotion grew in his chest and agreed with a small smile.

That bubble carried him throughout the rest of lunch, even as Christophe began to go into details about their past wild parties and some current drama involving a handful of cheerleaders, but the bubble popped into nonexistence nearly the moment he sat down in Ceramics, and Mila and Yura stared at him in expectation.

The two, thankfully, had dropped the whole notebook thing and hadn’t bothered suggesting it again, probably thinking he was too scared or worried to do so, which Yuuri was happy to let them believe.

“Well?” Mila questioned, “Update us! What have the plastics been up to?”

Yuuri picked at his nails even as he heard Georgi’s voice chastising him for doing so. “Nothing much. Just the usual stuff.”

Yura narrowed his eyes, “What were you guys talking about at lunch?” Yura looked sour with the words. “You and Victor seem to be getting _close.”_

Yuuri shrugged and tried to keep his fidgeting to a minimum. “We mostly talked about some party coming up. Some low gossip.” He very purposefully avoided Yura’s latter statement.

Yura leaned forward in interest, abandoning his project for the moment. “Like what gossip?”

Yuuri bit his lip and passed on some of the info, trying to keep it all as vague as possible. He was starting to more and more uncomfortable with sharing everything and did his best to change the topic when he was done.

“Yeah, so,” Yuuri waved his hand through the air, “That’s most of what they said. What have you guys been up to?”

“Lilia is making me get fitted for a stupid suit next week,” Yura punched his fist hard onto his block of clay. “I don’t even _want_ to go to Homecoming. It’s still forever away.”

Yuuri…had completely forgotten about the dance.

“And make me go by myself? Please.” Mila rolled her eyes, “If I have to go, you do too.”

“Are your parents forcing you to go, too?” Yuuri asked, messing with the cuff of his sleeve. He wasn’t going to risk ruining his outfit so he hadn’t bothered to find his tray of supplies, but it was strange nonetheless to not have anything to do with his hands.

Mila shot him an amused grin like his statement was adorable to consider. “Like my parents would do that,” She snorted and shared a brief look with Yura. “They’ve read like, a hundred too many parenting books to do that. They’re all about ‘encouraging my own path’ and ‘breaking apart from the status quo.’”

“It’s disgusting,” Yura muttered, which seemed to be his go-to insult.

“Oh,” Yuuri nodded along, “so why do you have to go?”

“I’m on the planning committee,” She shrugged. “It’s stupid as hell, but it looks good on applications.”

“Which means I’m forced into going to all the events,” Yura muttered but didn’t sound as bitter as he probably meant to.

He and Mila shared a quick, warm look over Yura’s head. For as much as he claimed to be all forever anger and sharp words, he was always the softest around them.

* * *

Later that night, Yuuri found himself with a bed full of Victor, and that thought would never cease to stop burning his cheeks.

Victor had come over purely for the purpose of ripping apart Yuuri’s current wardrobe, but of course had ended up staying for hours as Yuuri’s mother cooed and fawned over him. When Yuuri finally managed to pull Victor away into his room, he could have sworn his mother shot him a look of betrayal.

While there was much work Victor could have done with his closet -- mostly just discarding things, it seemed -- they had both grown bored with it after a while and laid lazy across Yuuri’s bed. Yuuri had thrown on one of his old records to fill as background noise, and it was he stood to flip the record that Victor’s phone started exploding with notifications. As he finished his quick task, he shot a questioning look over to the other boy.

Victor sighed from his place on Yuuri’s bed as he caught Yuuri’s look, “North Shore Secrets updated again,” he tapped a few times at his phone. “They’ve posted a dump.”

Yuuri came over and looked over his shoulder, “A dump?”

“A series of tweets,” Victor said, looking distracted. “Most of them are complete lies, but there are probably a few facts.”

“Oh,” Yuuri crouched down, “Anything...bad?”

Victor hummed as he scrolled through the posts and read. As he thumbed through them, Yuuri’s eyes went wide as he caught a few of them.

_head cheerleader and quarterback caught in the locker rooms -- celibacy sell-outs or what?_

_plastic #2 skipping class for hands-on anatomy lesson in rm 340_

_football #68 sipping on something other than coffee throughout the day_

_queen v’s hold on the plastics overthrown by adoptee? #4 causing trouble?_

_cheerleaders pregaming on grass & goose before games, who’s gonna care? _

Yuuri blinked in surprise at it all and leaned back before he read any more. Victor clicked his tongue and exited out the app after he finished reading through them. “I hate when they use specifics,” He almost sounded frustrated as he opened the messaging app, Christophe’s icon already flashing at the top with notifications.

Victor sighed for a long moment and his eyes fluttered shut. “I should go,” He said with no small trace of regret, “Christophe and Phichit are gonna wanna Facetime soon.”

“Oh,” Yuuri nodded reluctantly, “Okay. Um, good luck.”

Victor picked himself off the mattress and rubbed at his face, suddenly looking so tired. Yuuri would do anything to keep that exhausted look off his face and bring back his small smile from earlier.

“Hey, um -” Yuuri held up an old lumpy sweater even _he_ knew was horrible, probably a hand-me-down from his father’s own collection of thrift store clothes. “This is definitely worth keeping, right?”

Victor cracked a small grin at that and reached out to rub the fabric between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s soft, at least. That almost makes up for it being a complete eyesore.”

“Do you….” What was Yuuri even thinking? He shouldn’t even ask. He swallowed. “Do you want it?”

Victor blinked at him and said nothing.

“I mean, I know it’s ugly, but it’s soft and really warm.” Yuuri tried to offer, his cheeks burning. “If anything, if you take it that’ll keep me from accidentally wearing it in public. It’s, um, for the better good.”

God, what was he even saying? He was just rambling at this point. Victor had yet to pull his hand away.

Finally, Victor eyes snapped back to him from where they had been zeroed in on the sweater, surprised.

“I won’t wear it to school,” He warned, his voice soft. “I...couldn’t.”

“It’s just comfy clothes,” Yuuri desperately wished the flaring heat in his cheeks would calm down in the slightest. “Just yours to keep.”

Victor slowly took the sweater in his arms. His eyes flickered back to Yuuri’s face. “For the better good,” he echoed quietly, now holding the sweater to his chest. “Okay.”

Before Yuuri could say anything else to stick his foot in his mouth, Victor’s phone -- which had kept a steady vibration from texts throughout most of their conversation -- started up with a high-pitched ring. When Victor checked it, Christophe’s contact photo grinned back at him.

“I have to go,” Victor said, “Are we still meeting after school tomorrow?”

They had a quiz on Wednesday, so their weekly tutoring session had been switched to earlier that week so Yuuri could desperately try to explain this week’s concept.

“Of course,” Yuuri walked him out of the house and had them dip around the corners so Mama didn’t see. Yuuri would have to explain to her later that Victor had left, but shielding the other boy from all that was probably in his best interests.

Yuuri waved him off as he drove away, and stayed on the step until Victor’s car was completely faded from the distance.

* * *

“-- Okay, and after you run it through the calculator,” Yuuri scribbled down a series of numbers and clicked a few more buttons, “You should get the answer. Got it?”

Victor went quiet for a long moment, staring down at the problem. He was twirling a pencil around his fingers without thought, and Yuuri had spent the entire tutoring session so far trying not to get distracted with the action.

“Do you want me to go over it again?” Yuuri was already mentally mapping out a different way to phrase it. “Or is there a certain thing you’re stuck on?”

“It’s nothing, I just --” Victor stared down at the paper for another long moment before pointing to a section. “You miscalculated. This is supposed to be seventy, not fifty-five. You mixed up the formula.”

Yuuri looked down at the paper, running through the problem. “You’re right,” Yuuri realized, already scribbling out that portion. He paused. “How did you know that?”  
Victor gave him a bright, unconvincing smile, “You’re just a good teacher, I guess!”

Yuuri watched him for a long moment. “You know all this, don’t you?” Yuuri paused, thinking back to all the papers Ms. Norbury had passed back, the rare red mark on Victor’s own. Vaguely, he remembered the day of his debate club try-out, and all of Victor’s papers that fell across the ground, and the blue, brightly-colored flyer after his meeting with his advisor.

The same flyer Yuuri had gotten at the beginning of the year, advertising the Mathletes team.

Victor was frozen, his eyes a bit wide, his grin wobbling the longer Yuuri stared at him.

Yuuri pursed his lips, took a breath, and chose his words very carefully. “You don’t have to dumb yourself down to get me to like you, Victor.” His voice was very soft but strong. This was important for Victor to know, even as the other boy’s mouth parted in surprise. “Don’t ever sell yourself short for anyone. You’re so smart and anyone who doesn’t like that doesn’t deserve you.”

Victor visibly swallowed, “Okay,” He answered, final and sure like it really was. “Okay.”

Yuuri nodded, because it was important to him that Victor truly knew that. They packed up their supplies in silence and proceeded in similar fashion

“I’ve got to run to my locker,” Yuuri said out loud, realizing he forgot one of his textbooks. Victor had already mentioned his need to stop by the guidance counselor's office for a brief moment at the start of their session, so they both went their separate ways as the hour came to an end.

He made quick work of the walk to his locker and unlocking it, just wanting to grab his book and not be too late for his ride home, but paused when a thick piece of cardstock fell to the floor as soon as he opened the locker.

A piece of paper had been stuffed through the slits of his locker -- a small poster, he discovered as he unfolded it -- for an upcoming school-sponsored student showcase. In small, cramped handwriting in a corner of free space, someone had written, _show up or im punching u 4ever_

He grinned, slight and small. Someone from his side snorted loudly and when he turned, Mila, surprisingly, was waiting with an amused look on her face. She was in one of the writing clubs, he vaguely remembered, that met on Tuesdays. Despite being almost an hour after school ended, there was a surprising amount of people still lingering -- although that could be due to most practices ending or starting.

Yuuri held up the poster so she could see the front. “You know about this?”

“It’s the fall art show. Yura’s in it.” Mila gave him a small secret smile, “He’d never outright ask us to come, but I know he’s already reserved us tickets.”

Yuuri cracked a smile. That sounded like him.

“I’ll be there,” He promised. “What’s the date?”

She waved her hand, “It’s on the flier, just check it.” She clicked her tongue, “He’s very secretly excited. Only a handful of art kids were chosen, and only two in our class.”

“Two?” Yuuri questioned, trying to rack his brain for whoever else it could be. He and Mila were not even close to anything good, so they were automatically off the list. Maybe a few of the preps, or one of the drama kids.

“Yeah, Otabek apparently.” Mila looked as surprised with her words as he was. “Painting or something.”

Yuuri raised an eyebrow. “Really? Wow.”

“Yeah, that’s what Yura said. He was -” She paused in her sentence as something in the distance caught her eye, and she instantly went frozen. As he turned to look, he already knew.

Yuuri sighed before he looked back to her. “I guess homecoming proposals are starting,” He gave her a half-shrug, “That time of the year, or whatever.”

“It’s not even for another month and a half,” Mila hissed through clenched teeth, finally jerking her gaze away from the scene. From Yuuri’s brief glance, it was quite elaborate -- Sara’s car was nearly overtaken with multi-colored balloons and signs. Emil did a good job.

“That’s...stupid?” He offered, never quite sure what to say to her when she was like this.

Mila’s glare snapped to his face. “Yes,” she agreed, anger obvious in her voice. “It is. Bye, Yuuri.” Before he could respond, she spun on her heel and marched off. Yuuri blinked after her, surprised by her abrupt leave, but understood immediately as he turned and saw Victor waiting at the end of the hall. He stuffed the flier in his backpack,followed by a few textbooks, and slammed his locker shut.

Victor gave him a strange look as he approached, “What were you and Mila talking about? I didn’t know you two were close.”

“I, uh, never returned her shirt,” He swallowed. “The one that I borrowed for my first pink Wednesday. She wants it back.”

Victor looked after her for a brief moment. “I wouldn’t think it was a part of her current style,” he remarked thoughtfully.

“Maybe she’s thinking about changing it up,” Yuuri suggested, his heart pounding.

Victor quirked an eyebrow, “I hope not. With her shade of hair, that pink would completely wash her out.”

“Totally,” Yuuri nodded, absolutely having no idea how else to proceed in the conversation. Thankfully, Victor had no trouble taking control.

“Ride home?” Victor pulled his keys out of his messenger bag, expectant.

Yuuri shook his head, “My dad’s picking me up,” he explained, “the inn’s just opened and he needs me to cover a shift.” He actually needed Yuuri to come along and translate for him at the bank, but Yuuri felt oddly protective of that fact, even with Victor.

God, did he miss Japan sometimes. Even with all the glamor and grins that came with Victor’s group, and _wow_ was Yuuri starting to truly appreciate the American lifestyle of 24/7 everything and a fast-food joint on every corner, sometimes all he really wanted was to fall back in an effortless stream of Japanese and dry-air heat.

They’d been there for over a month now, and Yuuri was even starting to miss the Hasetsu _air._

Victor, completely oblivious to the turn Yuuri’s thoughts had taken, only nodded in response. “How long are you working?”

“Um,” He scrambled for an answer, “till around six, probably?” They’d most likely be back by then.

Victor hummed and paused in his steps. Yuuri did the same.

“I’m having a sleepover tonight,” Victor looked over to him, his face carefully neutral. “Seven-thirty. Be there.”

“Okay,” Yuuri agreed quietly because it was. Any time spent with the other boy was more than that, even if he’d have to spend his entire afternoon convincing his parents so. “I’ll see you later, then.”

Victor nodded and walked away without another word, never really one for goodbyes. Yuuri allowed himself a moment to stare at him -- just one -- and then hurried off the parent pick up where his father was waiting.

* * *

Victor’s door flew open only moments after Yuuri’s knock and Yuuri wasn’t even surprised by the unimpressed look that met him.

Yuuri raised his eyebrows, “Can I come in?”

Christophe, with a sleep mask balanced carefully on his head and silk pajamas shining under the dull light of the entryway, leaned against the doorframe and gave him a critical look. “Were you robbed or something?”

Yuuri gave him a look, already knowing where it was going. “No, I was not. These are my pajamas.”

Christophe only clicked his tongue like Yuuri was something especially tragic. He turned, finally allowing Yuuri off the front step, and began walking back into the halls before the door was even fully shut. Yuuri followed.

“So why are we having a sleepover on Thursday?” Yuuri readjusted his bag on his shoulder, “My parents took some convincing.”

Christophe shrugged at the latter, “They’ll get used to it,” he told him lightly, ignoring the first of his words.

“But why a Thursday? Couldn’t we just wait till tomorrow?”

“Georgi is having a breakdown,” Chris explained nonchalantly, still leading them through the house. “It was basically scheduled, didn’t you check the groupchat?”

“I had to put it on silent,” Yuuri shrugged at the look Chris threw him at that. “You guys text constantly.”

“How else are we supposed to keep up with each other?”

“Twitter,” Yuuri held out a hand, counting off. “Or Instagram. Or Snapchat. Or any of the other numerous apps you required me to download.”

“Hm,” Christophe finally paused, a wicked grin on his face. “Getting sassy are we, Yuuri?”

Yuuri rolled his eyes, a bit relieved they finally arrived at Victor’s doorway and pushed through.

And Christophe…wasn’t joking.

He nearly stumbled walking in, completely unprepared, as Georgi sobbed roughly with a pillow clenched to his chest. Victor, at his side, was patting his back in practiced sympathy. They both looked up at their arrival.

“Uh, hey Georgi,” Yuuri’s panicked eyes met Victor’s, “what’s going on?”

“The Theater season begins tomorrow,” Victor told him, like that explained everything. At the reminder, Georgi began hyperventilating into a paper bag. The two of them were surrounded by stacks of papers and small booklets, each with carefully typed out font. Scripts.  

“Georgi kind of pushes himself into a rut before auditions,” Christophe rolled his eyes as he took a perch on the edge of the bed, “even though he’s basically guaranteed the lead.”

“I get the lead _because_ my auditions are perfect,” Georgi told him, still heaving for breath. “Everyone there has the same chance, _I’ve_ just been preparing since the summer. But it’s all - it’s all falling apart, my god, why did I even think I could do this?” He began shuffling through the papers frantically, something he’d evidently been doing awhile at the mess covering the blankets. “Every time I go through my monologue, it’s just, it’s not _enough_ of anything."

“He needs it to be perfect,” Victor gave him a small shrug, plucking up a script at random and passing it over to the other boy. From how Georgi immediately relaxed and began flipping through it, it must have been the correct one. “It’s understandable, really.”

“If anyone understands perfection, it would be Victor,” Christophe told Yuuri like a secret, despite the boy in question being within arms reach. Yuuri, after a hesitant moment, looked over to him in question.

Victor only shrugged, examining his nails. “What’s the point of being perfect if you don’t make it look easy?” He stood and brushed the dog hair off his shirt. “This breakdown is making me hungry, I’m getting cheese fries. What do you two want?”

Both Christophe and Georgi, the latter albeit teary, rattled off their orders. Victor nodded and turned to Yuuri. “Come with me?” He asked as if Yuuri could say no.

Yuuri stood and followed, purposely ignoring the look Christophe shot him.

Once they were in Victor’s car and the other boy had peeled away from the driveway, he finally broke the silence.

“Where are we going?” He asked, looking out the window, mostly because it was easier than trying not to linger-stare at the other boy. Of course, only a few moments later, he couldn’t help peeking over, and Victor had the worst light-and-happy look on his face that drove Yuuri’s heart crazy.

“This one diner. Georgi loves the milkshakes, even though they’re like, 90 percent just chocolate syrup.” There was affection in his throat even as he rolled his eyes. The low afternoon sun made his silver hair glow, and it was all Yuuri could think about. “They’ve got good sandwiches, at least.”

“You’re a really good friend,” Yuuri said after a few beats of hesitation, unsure if his words would be welcome. “Really.”

Victor, paused at a stop sign, looked over to him with wide, surprised eyes, but said nothing.

The streets around them, thankfully, were deserted. For some ununderstandable, completely confusing reason, Yuuri couldn’t waste another moment sitting on his building feelings. They were nearly bursting out of his chest -- he couldn’t.

“Victor…” Yuuri started. He needed to tell Victor about everything - the plan, Yura and Mila, what they both wanted him to do and what he refused to do - but. _But._

But this moment felt perfect, the two of them next to each other, their hands entwined. Did he really want to risk ruining this? Did he really want to risk Victor, and his entire world he’d swept Yuuri up into?

He already knew the answer.

At Victor’s curious, waiting stare, Yuuri only squeezed at his hand tightly. “I like you,” Yuuri breathed out, “so much.”

Yuuri watched in awe as a soft color climbed up Victor’s pale neck and filled his cheeks. Victor looked absolutely breathtaking and breathless in the same moment.

Yuuri wasn’t waiting for an answer, he just wanted Victor to know that more than anything in the moment, but Victor looked determined to give one.

“I…” He swallowed and looked absolutely raw for a single beat. When he spoke, his voice was nearly a whisper, a secret to the entire world but Yuuri himself, “I like you too.”

Yuuri swallowed. His eyes flickered to Victor’s lips and -- _and_ \--

“Can I kiss you?” Yuuri breathed out, because it was so important that he asked permission for this. “Victor?”

Victor blinked, looking just as breathless as Yuuri himself, before nodding. Yuuri leaned in and softly, chastely, finally pressed his lips against the other boy’s.

Victor’s hand come to the back of his neck, his fingers threading through the soft hair there, and pressed equal delicate pressure into Yuuri’s lips.  

They broke apart after a few moments and stared at each other.

Yuuri breathed out, still a bit frozen. “Your face smells like peppermint.”

“It’s face cream,” Victor told him in return, his voice just as quiet.

“I like it,” Yuuri pulled away a bit just so he could get a better look at the other boy. “It’s nice.”

“Thank you,” Victor said quietly, and maybe it was the intimacy, their close faces separated by only a few inches, but his words felt like they were apart of something bigger. Victor tipped his head so it leaned just slightly against Yuuri’s forehead, and he repeated, “Thank you.”

Yuuri swore to himself, he promised to himself that he wasn’t going to ruin this. He _couldn’t._ He _wouldn’t._

Yura, he would later remember after everything, was oddly right.

* * *

The next morning, he woke in Victor’s room alone.

Well, nearly alone. Across his legs, Makkachin remained curled up tight and warm, even letting out a small, sad whine as Yuuri stood from the couch cushion and rubbed at his eyes. He gave her a few back scratches until she was back to her previous position, and he slowly began looking around.

From the low, soft words coming from the bathroom, Christophe and Georgi were preparing via their long and rigorous morning routine. He was stupidly grateful they let him sleep in, even if only for a few more minutes. From how the sun was barely up around the curve of the sky, it was barely six.

He kept his steps light as he crept around -- he didn’t want to risk getting pulled into Christophe and Georgi’s makeover so soon -- and instead followed a different kind of noise, one that brought him down to the kitchen.

“Morning,” Yuuri greeted him quietly, and Victor didn’t even jump from where his back was turned. At his voice, he looked over his shoulder.

“Good morning,” Victor told him, equally quiet. “Sleep well?”

Yuuri only agreed softly. After a few moments, the toaster -- glowing red-hot from its place in on the counter, clicked off.  
Victor continued to give him an unreadable look. After only a moment and a bit of shuffling, he held out a small plate. “Toaster strudel?”

Yuuri took the plate, and a seat, with a quiet thanks. He looked up to the other boy, “How’s Georgi?”

He let out a low breath as he leaned against the table, “He’s fine. He’s going to do great later today, he just can’t help but listen to what everyone says,” He looked mildly frustrated with this fact. “Ignoring them isn’t an option for him, I suppose.”

“We’ll take care of him,” Yuuri added after a few moments. From Victor’s following lingering look and nod, it seemed to be the correct answer.

He and Victor hadn’t talked about what had happened in the car, but they weren’t ignoring it either. Yuuri reached out and grabbed the other boy’s hand, and Victor didn’t hesitate to squeeze back.

They would figure it out. Even if Victor wanted to keep it a secret or lowkey, just having him at Yuuri’s side was worth it all.

* * *

“I’m going to drop ceramics,” Yuuri announced ten minutes into their class period later that day, his hands clasped together in his lap. He’d been preparing his words since yesterday afternoon.

Mila and Yura paused, both of their hands hovering over their clay.

“What?” Yura blinked at him, his eyes flickering down to the empty tray in front of him. “Why?”

Yuuri hadn’t been doing much lately, as the gray clay tended to dry out his hands and cling to his cuticles for hours after each class. Ms. Heron didn’t seem to care much, but his participation credits were starting to decline.

“The three want me to drop it and join their elective with them,” Yuuri explained, still feeling a bit bad. “And my grade in this class isn’t good enough to justify why I shouldn’t transfer. I couldn’t think of a good excuse for why not, so I have a meeting with my adviser after school.”

Both of them went quiet as they shared a long look. A bubble of frustration popped in his chest -- it was a bit annoying, all their secret looks and wordless conversations right in front of him. After a few more long moments, he couldn’t help but snap, “What?”

“It’s just,” Mila shot a careful look to Yura, who was staring intensely down at his mess of clay and pursed her lips carefully. “This class is the only time we get to consistently hang out with you.”

“I’ve been really busy-”

“With the plan, we know,” Mila finished for him, making him feel a bit worse.

“We can hang out soon,” Yuuri tried offering, “I’ll clear time, I promise.”

“Plastic promises mean nothing,” Yura muttered as he stood, carrying his tray into the backroom, and disappeared for the rest of the period.

* * *

Over the next few days, as he and Victor became closer and closer, one fact became apparently clear: He and Victor were dating. He, Yuuri Katsuki, was dating _Victor Nikiforov._

Victor had always been so untouchable, yes, but now it felt like even _more_ so. Not for Yuuri himself, but for everyone else standing on the outskirts of their brushing hands, secret smiles, low words, quick and hidden moments in corners.

Yuuri, the one Victor had allowed, _had chosen_ to touch him, was the only one allowed.

Just the thought shot a thrilling bolt up his spine as they walked side-by-side down the halls, their hands almost brushing, every time Victor leaned over or back in class to whisper some comment to him and only him.

But as subtle and lowkey as they were being though, Yuuri wasn’t surprised that others -- their peers, more especially -- were beginning to take notice. Of him and Victor, of course, but also more and more of Yuuri in general.

* * *

Cut the camera back to the grainy video, opening on a young teenager in a high school hallway smiling with apparent excitement.

“Everyone’s talking about it,” the teenager gushed, “that new transfer kid and Nikiforov are totally dating. They’ve been dating for months -- it’s why Yuuri transferred here in the first place! Isn’t that romantic?”

Next scene, this time in a busy gym, where a student in brightly colored North Shore gear grinned at the camera. “I once saw Katsuki Yuuri wearing sweatpants and flip-flops, so _I_ bought sweatpants and flip-flops.”

Another student flipped their hair and looked bored, leaning against a brick wall. “I heard Yuuri’s family owns a hotel, like celebrities do.”

The next teen looked nearly pissed off, their hands at their sides. “I have _personally_ been victimized by Yuuri Katsuki’s beautiful face.”

“He’s the most talented person in this school,” One of the students from earlier, with the flash of red dyed in his blonde hair, gushed with excitement. His cheeks nearly perfectly matched the splash of color on his head, and his eyes shined with complete excitement. “I would die for Katsuki Yuuri!”

Yuuri Katsuki, who had just happened to be walking to class and was caught in the background of the camera, turned in obvious confusion and bewilderment at the high, nearly screamed statement. Christophe Giacometti, who had been walking at his side, reached back and grabbed his wrist to drag him without breaking stride, not even fazed or pausing in his conversation.

* * *

Dating Victor, even quietly so, was so incredibly exhilarating that Yuuri had nearly forgotten everything else.

Including...the plan.

Earlier that day, Mila had given him a complicated, confused look when they met eyes in the cafeteria but thankfully didn’t approach him to say anything. From Yura’s apparent lack of reaction and total look of boredom beside her at the table, she apparently hadn’t shared the fact yet, and he must not have heard on his own.

Ever since Yuuri had officially dropped ceramics and transferred into whatever drama elective the others were taking, he hadn’t talked much to them. He was trying to give them some space -- Yura especially -- but he wasn’t sure when he’d know everything was alright again.

Still, no matter what their status was, he had _no interest_ in talking about this with them. God, what would Yuuri even say? In all honesty, it’d been weeks since he truly thought anything out about the plan, but he knew they’d be convinced dating Victor was all an angle for “exposing the plastics” or whatever. He could already hear Mila’s voice.

Thankfully, he managed to avoid her for the rest of the day -- in between classes, mostly. But at the end of the day, when he and Victor separated and went to their separate lockers, he accidentally looked up and meet his gaze just as he was zipping up his backpack.

In the same moment, she slammed her locker shut and peeled away from the crowd, heading towards him, and he didn’t even hesitate to absolutely book it down the hall before she could follow.

He dipped around small gathered cliques and hurried students rushing through their peers, and he wasn’t even looking where he was going, just that he was trying to hide.

This, of course, brought him half-hidden around a corner behind some gym mats that were stacked outside the girl's gymnasium. Which, so it happened, a few of the cheerleaders were already waiting for their after-school practice.

“Anyway, that party at Taylor Wedell’s house went completely out of control,” A voice rang out through the hallway, sounding smug. Yuuri paused in his route of escape -- that voice was incredibly familiar.

“I really don’t want the details,” Another familiar voice answered, sighing. Despite his instincts telling him to run, Yuuri peeked around the corner.

Anya and Sara -- the familiar voices then -- were facing each other as they leaned on opposite walls, both of them scrolling through their phones and talking. Scattered on the floor, half a dozen other cheerleaders sat looking bored, but no doubt were listening to every word.

“You don’t even want to know?” Anya grinned, sharp. “I know you’re all boring and basically married, but don’t you at least want to live vicariously through me?”

Anya definitely knew about Sara and Emil’s arrangement, but most likely didn’t know the reasoning behind it. Yuuri probably wouldn’t know had Mila not confessed her previous relationship with the other girl -- Sara hadn’t ever mentioned or hinted at the fact in any of the debate meetings. Most of the other debate club members seemed to be under the impression that Sara just simply wasn’t interested in dating at the moment, and kept Emil on her arm to keep others from trying.

“I don’t need to hear about your escapades.” Sara rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to throw up my lunch, thanks.”

“C’mon,” Anya wrinkled her nose. "You _have_ to have my back. That's like, the rules of feminism."

Sara sighed. "Anya, you're, like, a horrible person. This is what, the fourth time you've cheated on Georgi? I’m just getting tired of hearing the same thing over and over. I _like_ Georgi, he doesn’t deserve this."

Yuuri’s breath caught in his chest, even as Anya let out a small, unaffected laugh. “It’s like, half his fault at this point,” she claimed, her voice amused. “He knows about the first time, it’s basically expected now.”

Sara sighed, sounding annoyed, and didn’t respond.

Yuuri pulled away from the scene, his eyes wide.

Why would they talk about that so freely, so without worry?

Maybe the cheerleaders were sworn to secrecy or something. After all, it’d be pretty easy to figure out who spilled the secret when only a handful of people were around.

Well. Only a handful of people were _known_ to be around.

He dashed off, no longer concerned with the thought of Mila being on his trail, and went looking for the person he knew would be best to handle this.

It took a bit to find him -- much longer than Yuuri would have preferred, but it was unavoidable with the crowds of students all rushing to get through the halls as quickly as possible -- and Yuuri was almost afraid he’d already gone home. Thankfully, he was lingering at his locker with another boy, a wide, flirting grin on his face.

As soon as Yuuri came running up though, disheveled and probably looking nothing like the expected perfect, Christophe stepped back from his companion and dismissed him with a single flick of his hand. The boy, tall and looking like trouble, shot Yuuri an annoyed look but complied, and they both waited until he -- and the few others lingering in the hall -- were gone and they were alone.

Christophe gave him an expectant look. He took a deep breath and tried to form his words.

“Christophe, I…” He bit his lip, unsure about the rules of this going forward. “I overheard something.”

Christophe paused at the tone of his words, pulling away from his locker with a careful look that hardly crossed his face on the school campus. “Oh?” He shut the metal and leaned against his, his eyebrow raised. “Go on.”

Yuuri shifted his weight, took a deep breath, and explained everything he overheard. As he spoke, Christophe’s face grew darker and darker.

“I didn’t know what to do,” Yuuri finished off, grimacing. “Except, well, tell one of you.”

Christophe ran a hand through his hair, one of his shows. “If you’ve heard, who knows who else did. Where’s Georgi?”

Yuuri shook his head, having no idea, and only followed Christophe as he stalked off in a random direction -- towards the theater. Christophe had no reservations about marching straight backstage, Yuuri still following unsure behind him, while a few drama club members watched them from afar. Christophe completely ignored them, so Yuuri tried to as well.

Backstage, Christophe knew the way well enough and didn’t hesitate in dipping under the staircase, over a few rolling sets, and around racks of costumes and props. Finally, he paused, letting Yuuri catch up with him.

 _Romeo_ was spray painted on the black door in neatly stenciled letters, right next to a matching _Juliet_ one, but even behind the thick wood they could hear low sobs. Christophe pushed through the door without another moment of hesitation.

The cries didn’t stop at the door swung open, but they both did in their steps.

“Oh, Georgi,” Christophe sighed, lingering in the doorway. After a few moments of hesitation, Yuuri came up beside him, and he completely understood what Christophe had meant.

The other boy was curled in the corner of the room, right next to an overflowing clothes rack that looked half-knocked to the ground, and he didn’t seem to have the power to stop that low cry that erupted from his chest at the sight of them.  

Georgi threw his phone across the room before they could even step in and, by some twisted sort of luck, the screen fell facing Yuuri. On the thankfully uncracked screen, the North Shore Secrets Twitter was glowing.

“She _cheated_ on me,” Georgi’s buried his face in his hands as the stepped closer, “again. With my _co-lead._ I’ve - I’ve been texting her and she’s not even embarrassed,” Georgi let out a series of sobs. “I’m such a fucking idiot.”

Christophe sighed and dropped his bag to the ground. After a few moments, he followed and pulled the other boy closer.

“Georgi...” Christophe sighed, not really surprised by this. He didn’t say anything else.

Georgi sniffed and leaned his head on Christophe’s shoulder, and Christophe didn’t even seem to mind the snot and salty tears that would surely ruin the delicate fabric of whatever designer he was wearing. Georgi struggled to get out his words through persistent hiccups, but managed to ask, “So everyone knows?”

When Christophe failed to speak up, he looked to Yuuri. Yuuri, still standing a few steps from the doorway, had nothing to do except nod, once, twice.

Georgi’s eyes welled up in tears again, but they didn’t yet fall. Clenched around his knees, Georgi’s hands tightened in anger.

“I bet no one would cheat on Victor,” Georgi spat out, rare venom in his voice. “He’s just _so_ perfect. Who fucking would?”

“Hey,” Christophe frowned, pulling away just a bit. “Stop. This has nothing to do with him. Anya is the one who hurt you.”

“It’s not fair,” Georgi buried his face in Christophe’s shoulder, “he doesn’t even _try_ and I try so hard and it doesn’t even matter.”

Another sigh, “I know,” Christophe tightened his hold on Georgi’s shoulder. “I know you do.”

Christophe allowed the other boy a few more minutes before, finally, he shook the other boy’s shoulder.

“C’mon,” Christophe pulled Georgi to his feet. Yuuri already had a makeup wipe out and stepped forward to begin wiping off Georgi’s mascara-streaked cheeks. Christophe gave him an approving look as he checked his phone quickly. He clicked it off after only another moment. “Apparently Victor’s already heard, he’s telling us to come over.”

Georgi nodded miserably, heavily leaning onto Yuuri now who took his weight smoothly.

“Debate club?” Yuuri asked, his hold around Georgi’s waist tight and strong.

“Canceled,” He slid his phone into his pocket, “or, it will be. Victor will send out word.”

Yuuri nodded and turned back to Georgi. After only a bit of struggling, they got Georgi through the back door of the theater -- thankful, at least, that their classes had long since ended and their classmates were gone -- and into the car. The car ride was quiet, with Yuuri and Georgi in the backseat and Georgi letting out the occasional sob, Chris in the front with low radio drifting from the speakers.

By the time they arrived at Victor’s house and got them all settled into his room, a tense silence fell over them all. Christophe and Georgi  -- the latter of whom was still letting out the occasional sob and a steady stream of tears that stained Yuuri’s shoulder -- seemed to be waiting for something. Finally, ten minutes in, Christophe stood, his phone glowing in his hands.

“Victor?” Christophe looked oddly serious, his thumbs hovering above the screen. The screen went dim as they waited.

Victor watched Georgi for another moment, who was still softly crying, and nodded once with his face completely impassive, “Do it.”

Christophe clicked on his phone, typing away at it as he walked into the hallway. Georgi let out another sob at that, still crushing the pillow to his chest.

Yuuri only blinked. “Do what?”

Victor still hadn’t looked away from Georgi, and made no move forward to fill Christophe’s previous position of comfort. Feeling off balance, Yuuri did so instead and crouched at Georgi’s side to make soft, soothing noises. When he looked up to Victor, still a few feet away, his head was cocked to the side, but his face still blank. He still hadn’t answered Yuuri’s question.

Victor noticed Yuuri’s attention, his eyes briefly flickering to Yuuri’s before returning back. When he spoke, his voice was clear of any dominant emotion.

“We take care of our own, Yuuri.” Victor looked to him, then to Georgi with purpose. “No one can hurt us and get away with it.”

Yuuri blinked, his hand still rubbing soothing motions on Georgi’s back. “What does that mean?”

“It means we’re going to take care of it,” He said that a bit clearer, more intention directed towards the sobbing man under Yuuri’s hand. He continued, “Georgi. You once asked us to ignore what she did to you, and I told you I wouldn’t do so again. I don’t lie, but I’ll ask. Can I handle this?”

Yuuri had no idea what that meant, but Georgi seemed to have some sort of idea if his increased tears counted for anything. But nonetheless, after a few moments, Georgi nodded into Yuuri’s neck even as he still sobbed lowly.

“Okay,” Victor’s voice was perfect and even, his face neutral as he stared down at the other boy’s tears. “Consider it done.”

For a brief second, Victor’s cold, blank eyes flickered to Yuuri’s. There was a promise there, something sworn, even if Yuuri didn’t fully understand it.

Tucked in his neck, Georgi’s breath began to hitch and catch as he drove himself into another fit and Yuuri tucked fully back to him to rub his back and whisper calm words. When Yuuri looked back up, Victor was gone.

* * *

When Yuuri showed up to school the next day, he wasn’t sure what to expect.

Everything looked -- seemed -- exactly the same. People were staring at him, sure, but it would probably be weirder if they didn’t at this point. The cheerleaders were still gathered around their shared locker block, people were rounded in small circles talking to their friends, but most people were just at their lockers emptying their backpacks, grabbing at textbooks, and chugging large cups of coffee. Pretty normal morning.

He had arrived nearly an hour early at the request of a text from Christophe sent the night before, so he immediately sought out the other boy’s locker. Christophe, who was leaning against the metal with an air of nonchalance, looked up at his arrival.

Yuuri nodded at him in greeting, “How is....everything?” He tried, leaning against the metal. He still wasn’t completely sure what he and Victor had put into motion the night before after Christophe had dropped him off at home, but he was sure he would find out more details today. After all, Victor and his group worked fast.  

Christophe clicked off his phone and pocketed it, “Georgi is still a wreck.” Christophe kept his voice low, only for Yuuri to hear. “He’s probably coming in late, he declined my offer for a ride.”

Yuuri nodded. He would probably do the same. “And…” He trailed off, “Everything else?”

He didn’t know how to outright ask _how is the whole mysterious plan you and Victor ominously referred to?_ But those words seemed to do the trick, as Christophe raised his eyebrows.

“Victor handled it,” Christophe still hadn’t explained why he wanted Yuuri to come in so early, but he didn’t prompt the question.

“By ‘handled it’ you mean…?” God, couldn’t he ever outright just say anything?

“He took care of it, and she won’t bothering Georgi anyone.” That seemed to be an impossible task considering how much Georgi talked about the girl, but Yuuri stayed quiet as Christophe continued.

“Anya’s out of debate club,” Christophe finally said, examining his nails. “And after some serious reconsideration, it seems the drama department wants to go in a different direction for this fall’s production.”

Yuuri blinked, “What does that mean?”

“It means Anya’s been recast,” Christophe shrugged. “Tragic, isn’t it? I heard she already specially ordered some extra pieces for her costume. Pity the company doesn’t do refunds.”

“Oh,” Yuuri blinked in surprise. That was fast. “Is Georgi okay?”

“He’ll be fine,” Christophe dismissed with a wave of his hand. After a moment, he gave Yuuri a brief look, “Although, if you’d like to help, you could do something.”

“What can I do?” Yuuri asked. Was this a test? If so, there was no way he was gonna risk it.

“Georgi forgot some of his textbooks during his time in the dressing room. Can you go get them?” Christophe was being much too serious about a small favor, but Yuuri still nodded nonetheless. “Good. I assume you remember the way?”

Yuuri nodded, because it wasn’t that hard and there was no way Georgi would be able to step foot on that stage without bursting into another fit of tears. He aimlessly walked around the stage, half-hoping he’d come across a random person who could direct him to where he needed to go.

But of course, like every half-wish of Yuuri’s subconscious, he got nearly exactly the opposite of what he wanted.  

“Oh!” He stumbled forward, tripping over a stray cord in surprise. Anya, whose presence had surprised him, looked up from her seat and scrambled to her feet, already glaring.

“What the fuck do you want, plastic?” She spat out, wiping at her cheeks even as she sneered. “You here to spy for the other three? Get me kicked out of school just for fun?”

Yuuri only blinked at her, gesturing towards the door. “I’m picking up Georgi’s things.” She was sitting on the corner of a row of wooden sections plastered to the cement walls, each filled with an array of personal items. He looked back to her, confused. “What...what are you doing here?”

She swallowed, her fists clenched like she was ready to fight. “I’m cleaning out my cubby,” She sneered at him. “Does this make you feel good? Ruining my life? Are you just here to laugh and tell the other Ken dolls about how pathetic I am?”

“I…” That seemed a bit dramatic, but Yuuri wasn’t in any place to claim so. He had nothing else to say.

“There goes my theatre scholarship,” She muttered, probably not for him. “No one’s gonna want to audition someone who couldn’t even make it in their high school shows.”

Yuuri swallowed. She was nearly trembling, but her gaze was sternly fierce, unbreaking.

She had done something terrible to Georgi -- Georgi who was so trusting and loving and fragile. Yuuri shouldn’t feel sorry for her. He _shouldn’t._  

Yuuri turned away from her, leaving her alone, and grabbed Georgi’s books from his carefully marked cubby at the end. When he finally returned back to their class hallway, Christophe was watching him with a careful, knowing eye. Yuuri showed no breaking emotion.

Christophe took the books from him and gave him a single nod. He had passed.

* * *

A week later, he and Christophe were walking together down the hall and ignoring all the looks shot their way and it was slightly strange that those looks were now basically a part of Yuuri’s normal.

They usually walked to their elective period together and met the other two, but since Christophe’s locker was barely a few yards from the classroom, neither of them bothered to rush through the passing period and usually spent most of the few free minutes talking. Although, Yuuri shouldn’t have been surprised when Christophe was only really able to talk about one topic.

“Ready for tonight’s party?” Christophe bumped their hips together. “It’s your first real high school party. Are you good to go?”

God, Yuuri was in no way prepared.

“Of course,” Yuuri hoped his grin wasn’t too forced. “Can’t wait!”

“And your costume?” Christophe grinned, “How much skin are you showing?”

Yuuri rolled his eyes and a bit of his earlier nervousness faded away. “An appropriate amount. Nothing like yours, I imagine.”

“Oh, Yuuri.” Christophe’s arm fell over his shoulders as they walked. “You know me so well.”

“Or,” Yuuri offered, “I’ve simply seen the numerous costumes you’ve discussed with Georgi.”

“That too,” He agreed. “So, you’re not gonna tell me? Not even a hint?”

Yuuri hid a secret smile, “Victor knows.” He said, because it was true and would definitely drive the other boy crazy. Victor and he had discussed it over one of their tutoring sessions but both decided to keep Yuuri’s costume a secret.

 _“Of course,”_ Christophe sighed dramatically as they reached his locker, and he threw it open without hesitation. “Well, it better be worth the wait.”

Yuuri gave him an amused look and changed the topic, mostly out of concern.

“How’s Georgi?” Yuuri asked, biting his lip, “He hasn’t been talking much in our English class and we’re covering _Julius Caesar._ He usually makes impassioned, improvised speeches about the character’s morals or development or something, I think even our teacher’s starting to get worried.”

Christophe blew a burst of air into his bangs. “He’s better. Still mopey, but I think he’s finally starting to do the artist thing and like, channel all his emotion into his craft or whatever.” He snorted. “If it wasn’t so horribly timed, I’d tell him to sign up for the student showcase. I’m sure they could use some dramatics in that stale exhibit.”

Something scratched in the back of his mind, but Yuuri nodded along to Christophe’s words instead. Before he could ask anything further, another body slid up to their lockers.

“You guys talking about tonight’s party?” Phichit grinned and pocketed his phone, “I’m going as a hamster!”

“Adorable,” Christophe grinned, “we’re gonna have to take at least a hundred selfies.”

“At least,” Phichit agreed. “Maybe more.”

“Well, speaking of the party, I’ve got to find me a date for tonight,” Christophe caught the eye of a passing guy and winked, immediately going to follow with only a slam of his locker. “See you two later!”

“Keep me updated!” Phichit called after him, a wide grin in place as Christophe left the two of them alone. Instead of disappearing like Yuuri had hoped with the end of the conversation, Phichit turned to Yuuri with an open expression.

“What are your plans for tonight?” Phichit readjusted his hold on the textbook tucked into his elbow, almost like a nervous tick. “Until the party, I mean.”

“I have to go home to get ready,” Yuuri told him flatly, mindlessly strolling through his phone just to give the appearance of complete disinterest.

Phichit grinned, something too-bright to be genuine. “Maybe we could get ready together!” His voice was edged up in false excitement, “We can grab food and meet the others -”

“No thank you,” Yuuri interrupted him, his voice hard. He thought of Mila’s clenched fists, angry gaze, and her emotion wasn’t too hard to draw from. He tilted his head away, just like he’d seen Victor do, and looked bored. “I’m good.”

Phichit’s bright smile slowly faded from his face, his shoulders dropping a bit. He huffed out a breath, and Yuuri prepared himself for the cold, cruel true person behind the mask that Mila had told him all about.

Instead, Yuuri got something completely different.

“Why don’t you like me?” There was a defeated tone in his voice. “Like, I’m not expecting everyone in the world to like me, but Celestino has been telling me about you and apparently we have a lot in common and I’ve been trying so hard and -” Phichit sighed, “Just tell me what I did so wrong that has you like, allergic to my presence.”

And that...wasn’t what he had been expecting.

Yuuri cleared his throat, searching for something to say. The trio knew he was somewhat friends with Mila, right? They knew she was his guide and he borrowed his pink shirt from her -- if the info got back to the others, there shouldn’t be any consequences.

Finally, after a few moments, Yuuri spoke. “Mila is one of my good friends,” he told the other boy, hoping that would explain most of it. “And I’m loyal to my friends.”

There was a long moment of silence, as Phichit absorbed that, before the other man scoffed, a rough and ugly sound.

“Really?” He gave Yuuri a disbelieving look. “Okay, wow. I really hadn’t been expecting that. Guess I’m not as good at reading people as I thought because I thought you were a pretty decent guy.”

Yuuri’s eyebrows came together, “Hey -”

“No,” Phichit interrupted him, the hardest look Yuuri had seen on the other boy coming over his face. “I thought you were totally friend material, who doesn’t just go off rouge gossip to classify other people and judge classmates he hasn’t even had a conversation with, but I guess my instincts were just terribly off. Fine. You want the truth?” He blew air into his bangs, looking terribly pissed off, and continued on. “Yeah, I discouraged Sara from dating Mila.”

He crossed his arms. “But Mila wanted Sara to be one hundred percent out and proud while dating her, and Sara’s home life isn’t set up for that right now. When  Mila kept ragging on Sara to come out to her parents before the dance, and Sara was completely freaking out about it, I gave her some solid advice and I’m not sorry about that. And yeah, I told Sara to prioritize herself instead of someone else, and now Mila and half the Alliance club at school hates me, and that’s fine. Because Sara is safe and working her family up to the idea and taking her time. And that’s how it’s supposed to go.” Phichit visibly swallowed, “You can force someone to be the way you want them to be, even if you think it’s for their good. Hate me all you want, but I’m supporting my friend.”

Yuuri didn’t know what to say, but that didn’t seem to matter as the other boy continued on.

Phichit threw Yuuri a hard look. “I heard some crappy stuff about you too, you know, but I always wait to form my own opinions on people.” He clicked his tongue, “Turns out there was no use because they were all right.”  

With that, he swept out the room, hard and tense lines making up his shoulders. Yuuri stared after him, his mouth fallen open, and blinked.  
And blinked again.

Oh god, Yuuri was such a goddamn fake. Plastic through-and-through.

His chest began to hitch with breath. What was he even doing? His eyes began to burn. He was just a liar. He was just a liar. When they all found out, they’d hate him. God, they would despise him.

The burn in his nose was just about unbearable, and people were beginning to notice. Fuck. People were beginning to notice, and that was the worst thing that was the worse, wasn’t it, their eyes on him, judging him.  
Before he could push himself further off the emotional cliff, Victor was suddenly there.

“Hey,” Victor’s grip was on his elbow was gentle, his eyebrows just barely pushed together in concern. When he spoke, he kept his voice low. “Are you alright?”

Yuuri swallowed around the tightness in his throat, blinking around the burning in his eyes. “I…” People were staring. He took a low breath, looking up at the other boy with wet eyelashes. He didn’t know what to say -- how to say it -- but he could only get out, “People are staring.”

Victor seemed to understand immediately, his hand wrapping around Yuuri’s elbow to lead him away, his gaze a flickering stab of ice to those who dared to linger and watch in question.  

Yuuri focused on keeping his cheeks dry, his chest from heaving, and didn’t even notice when Victor lead them straight past the first two bathrooms they passed -- his automatic solace in the face of uncontrollable emotion -- but blinked back in surprise when Victor headed straight for the silver double doors at the end of the hall.

“I -” Yuuri jerked back enough to keep Victor from going on, but not enough for Victor’s hand to fall from his sleeve. Yuuri hoped his simple protest was enough to voice his question, as his tight and scratchy throat wasn’t allowing any further words.

Victor looked back to him and stepped forward, his other hand coming up to hover above Yuuri’s hip. “Let’s go,” He was sure in his words. “Let’s get out of here, okay? Just us two.”

If someone could learn how to bottle a voice -- more specifically the warmth and emotion one could hold -- Victor’s would be the first to go. Those words were so carefully chosen, and the note of comfort and safety and simple steady warmth.

It wasn’t like Yuuri could deny him anything, or that he wanted to.

Slowly, Yuuri nodded. “Okay,” he said, soft. “Let’s go.”

Where to, Yuuri had no idea. But still, when Victor pushed open the school doors and dipped out without a moment of hesitation, Yuuri followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry this is so late but it's extra long so??? dont hate me???  
> next chapter is the halloween party which is basically why i wrote this fic so!!! lets get this bread y'all  
> follow me at rosyredlipstick.tumblr.com!!!  
> hope you guys enjoyed!!! this chapter was really hard for me to get out but i hope it was worth some of the wait  
> <3  
> to all my american fans, have a happy thanksgiving!!! fuck christopher columbus!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what comes up must come down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thank you to my amazing beta rina! love you! thank you for catching my overuse of commas and overuse of simple words ur amazing!!!

After leading them out to his car and driving the backroads off campus, Victor had yet to explain where they were going. Yuuri, at least, hadn’t cried yet. So. That was a win. 

“Where are we going?” Yuuri asked, his voice still small yet stronger than it had been. 

“We’re going by my place for a moment,” Victor didn’t take his eyes off the road. “We’ll pick up some stuff.” 

Yuuri gave him a questioning look, but said nothing. 

“This is probably one of the last good weather days of the year,” Victor observed, glancing out the window. “I’ve got an idea. Trust me.” Victor’s hand found Yuuri’s and squeezed. 

“I do,” Yuuri had to say, if nothing else. 

Victor didn’t respond, but his lips quirked up in smile was answer enough. They both fell quiet, only the soft radio drifting between them. Yuuri, mostly, was just trying to focus on not bursting into tears. God, how could he be so cruel to Phichit? He didn’t even give the other boy a chance. Who was he turning into? Japan Yuuri never would have judged someone so quickly, so unkindly. 

Or would he have? 

It’s not like Japan Yuuri had had many opportunities to befriend other people, especially when his small class was one he’d known since grade school. Had he always had the capacity for such behavior and just never had the chance to show it? 

Yuuri pulled his knees up to his chest, careful to not drag his sneakers on Victor’s leather seats. He sighed, misery in every angle of his body. 

Victor shot him a few concerned looks but thankfully didn’t try to pull the story out of him. Yuuri wasn’t sure he could admit what he did to the other boy. 

Soon enough, they were pulling up to Victor’s house and he was gesturing for Yuuri to stay put as he ran in. Yuuri was happy enough -- or miserable enough -- to comply. Some time passed, only five minutes or so, and then Victor was bouncing back out towards him. At the sight of him and his company, Yuuri nearly melted. He rushed to get the door open and, in a wonderful turn of events, he suddenly acquired a lap of dog. 

Yuuri sighed and immediately closed his arms around Makkachin’s excited figure, and buried his face in her fur without another thought. 

“Nevermind, you were right,” Yuuri’s voice was incredibly muffled as he buried his face even farther into Makkachin’s furry neck. “This is exactly what I needed.”

Victor smiled at them and slammed the door after himself. “That’s not it,” he said, starting the car back up. “I mean, Makkachin is definitely is part of it,” he corrected himself as he reversed the car and pulled onto the road. “But there’s something else too.” 

Yuuri lifted his head from Makkachin’s fur mostly to come up for air, but also to shoot Victor a curious look. “What do you mean?” 

Victor grinned at him and slipped on a pair of bright pink sunglasses. “You’ll just have to wait and see now, won’t you?” 

After returning to the main streets, Victor drove for another fifteen, maybe twenty minutes before demanding Yuuri close his eyes and  _ keep them closed no matter what.  _ Yuuri, his humor somewhat returned and mood vastly improved by the panting dog in his lap, complied and only let out a few teasing comments as Victor continued driving. Ten more minutes and finally, Victor was shifting the car into park.

“Okay,” He turned the radio back down from when he’d increased it, claiming the need for total surprise. “Open your eyes.” 

Yuuri did, and he immediately let out a low gasp. 

“You…” Yuuri swallowed and tightened his fingers in Makkachin’s fur. “How did you…”

“You’ve mentioned the beach,” Victor admitted softly, almost shy that he remembered. “You’ve said you missed it? From back home?” 

Yuuri swallowed. “I do,” he said, “almost every day. Our onsen was right by the ocean and -” 

“- you could hear it on your walk to school,” Victor finished, his cheeks blooming with pink. “I remember.” 

Yuuri blinked around his tears, overwhelmed. 

“We don’t have to stay,” Victor added on, unsure as the silence went on. “We can go somewhere else, anywhere you want -” 

Yuuri grabbed onto his hand and shook his head. His smile was watery but genuine. 

“This is perfect,” he said, all lingering anxious thoughts distracted and gone for now. 

Victor returned the grin, his own tentative, and squeezed at Yuuri’s hand. “Then let’s go.” 

They abandoned their shoes and socks in a messy pile outside Victor’s car and took in the nearly empty beach before them. This was largely due to the ongoing schoolday, but there was still a small family on one side and a few similarly aged teens, probably skipping classes as well. Other than them, they had the beach to themselves. 

Victor had apparently managed to pull together a quick basket of snacks while grabbing Makkachin, as well as a blanket and a comically large tub of sunscreen. 

“I’m not burning myself for you, Yuuri Katsuki,” he said, unashamed as Yuuri teased him about the industrial size of the lotion. He somehow said this with total aloofness, even as a large dollop of it remained unsmeared on his cheek, his bottom eyelashes brushing it. Yuuri reached over and rubbed this thumb across the skin until it was blended in. Victor’s breath caught as he did so, and they stared at each other for a long moment. 

Yuuri leaned in and brushed his lips against Victor’s, soft and true and hopefully somehow conveying everything he was feeling. “Thank you,” he whispered, catching the other boy’s hand in his. He squeezed and reached his forehead against Victor’s. “Really. Thank you.” 

Victor tilted his head back to fix Yuuri with a determined look. He swallowed. 

“You don’t have to thank me,” Victor said, his words slow like he was struggling with them. Victor was so careful with his words that so often he just stayed silent. Now, he seemed committed to sharing them. “You - you do enough. For me. It’s...unbelievable. I never thought I would - I  _ could _ have anything like this.” 

Yuuri was breathless, speechless, and powerless in the face in Victor’s wide eyes. Yet, he felt completely full.  

Victor traced his jawline with a few of his fingertips, almost something like awe in his eyes. He kissed Yuuri just as soft, maybe something similar in his translation. 

He pulled away and smiled, full and real. “C’mon,” He dragged Yuuri forward and Makkachin, who was sitting patiently at their feet, jumped up to follow. “Let’s check out the water.” 

* * *

Beach sand was still clinging to their skin as they drove back. 

The school day was long since over but the sky had yet to completely blur into darkness. 

“Today’s already felt so long,” Yuuri admitted, running his hand over Makka’s head as she slept. 

Victor paused. “Do you not want to go?” 

Yuuri huffed out a breath, “I think Christophe will like, send a hitman after me if I don’t show up.” 

Victor frowned, “If you don’t want to go -” 

“Victor,” there was already a small smile on his face as he spoke, “I’ll be fine. I want to go, I’ll just need to down an energy drink or something.” 

He _ tsked _ . “Those are so bad for you,” he only commented but looked somewhat satisfied with Yuuri’s answer. Yuuri watched him as they drove back and felt completely full with something he wasn’t sure he could name yet. He knew what it was -- of course he did, that was obvious -- but he wasn’t sure he was able to label it that yet. Staring at the other boy, it was so easy to know that somehow, Yuuri would get there. 

Victor pulled up to Yuuri’s house and put the car in park. 

“See you later?” Victor smiled so soft and sweet at him, warmth in his eyes. 

Yuuri refused to blush, only meeting his hesitant smile with one of his own. He took Victor’s hand, pressing a gentle, chaste kiss to his knuckles, before glancing back up to him. A soft color dusted across his pale skin, and Yuuri hadn’t ever felt so warm. “I’ll be the one in blue.” 

Yuuri was still smiling slightly as he made his way inside into the small kitchen dining area. His chest felt light and airy, pure happiness like bubbles floating inside him. 

His parents were both sitting at the table when he came in, and looked to him as he threw down his bag. 

His mother was the first one to speak up, the phone retriever by her elbow. “How was your day?” 

“Good!” Yuuri chirped back, pausing in front of the shiny microwave to examine his eyeliner. It remained unsmeared, despite everything. He’d have to keep to that brand after this tube ran out -- Georgi had picked out a good one. He continued his words in the silence following, knowing his parents were probably expecting details. “I had a test last period, but I think I did fine.”

“Really? That’s interesting.” His parents shared a look before his mother stood, “Because a few hours ago we received a phone call that you apparently skipped out before lunch.” 

He froze, his hands hovering mid-air where they were fixing his bangs. 

“Oh,” His hands dropped to his sides as he slowly turned to face them. He...hadn’t thought the school would call his parents. “I…” 

He wanted to jump in and offer to explain, except explain what? That he’d skipped class and gone to the beach because he was having a bad day? 

They were clearly waiting for him to do so, as a silence spread over the room. Finally, his mother cleared her throat. 

“Are you gonna explain yourself?” She asked in a stern voice, so unlike what he was used to from her. “We’ve been sitting here worried sick when you didn’t come home for hours.” 

Yuuri could only shrug, “I just - I just skipped out.” There was no way he was mentioning Victor in his story. “I was bored with class so I went to the beach. It’s not that big of a deal.”

To them, it definitely was. School was always supposed to be top priority. 

His parents shared a long look. 

“You’re grounded,” His father finally spoke up. They must have discussed tag-teaming the punishment, then. Yuuri had overheard them doing so for Mari a hundred times over growing up, but it had never been applied to him. “Two weeks. No video games, you go to and from school only, no hanging out with friends.” 

“What?” Yuuri blinked back in surprise. _ Two weeks? _ He’d been expecting, like, his phone being taken away or something for the night. “For  _ one  _ thing?” 

“It wasn’t one thing,” his father frowned, “you skipped four periods of class. That’s serious, Yuuri.” 

“That’s not even to mention the detentions your school is discussing,” his mother added on. 

Yuuri huffed out a breath, refusing to stomp his foot despite the strong urge. “This is ridiculous!” 

“What’s ridiculous is your behavior recently.” A spark of concern sparked in his father’s eye. “Skipping class isn’t like you at all, Yuuri. We’re worried about you.” 

“Mari acted out all the time as a teenager and she was hardly ever punished!” Yuuri pointed out, suddenly furious, because it was true. She had evened herself out after a couple years, but he could only truly recall a handful of times she’d truly been punished.

His parents shared a quick look, which only served to infuriate him more. 

“You’re grounded,” His father repeated, “arguing isn’t going to get you anywhere positive. Go to your room, Yuuri.” 

Yuuri just stared at him, nearly shaking with anger. Growing up, Mari had been the poster child of a rebellious teen with bleached hair, piercings, and heavy makeup, and she hardly  _ ever  _ suffered punishment for any of it. This was so _ unfair.  _

He stomped off to his room, at loss for words at this point. He threw himself on his bed, wondering how he was going to tell the others he couldn’t make it because he was  _ grounded. _ God, how childish that sounded. 

Of course,  _ now  _ is the time his parents started being strict in their parenting. Just when Yuuri’s getting a social life.

He sat up at that thought, tossing it over in his mind. 

He wasn’t going to let them ruin this for him. What if he didn’t show up tonight and Victor decided that was it? 

He couldn’t risk it. 

This was his first major high school party. He was not going to miss it, especially with Victor waiting on him. 

He jumped off the bed and immediately started throwing his things vaguely together. As he started doing so, Mari came and lingered in his doorway. 

He met her gaze for a moment before turning away, which she must have taken queue to speak. 

“Mom and Dad don’t know what to do,” Mari twisted the straw in between her fingers. “You were supposed to the good kid. Pretty sure they thought the next few years would glide by.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” he muttered, throwing clothes from his drawer onto the ground until he found what he was looking for. 

“Well, since you’re on house arrest, wanna have a movie night?” Mari was going on in the background, Yuuri too distracted to really listen to her words. “I’ve got a few rentals I’ve been meaning to watch, and we’ve got some microwavable popcorn. Mom and Dad are pissed but I can probably convince them cooking is too much of a hassle tonight, pizza maybe -” 

“Mari,” Yuuri interrupted, throwing a pair of shoes on the bed, his costume following. “I’ve got a party to go tonight, can you get me out of the house? And cover for me?” 

Mari paused in her words, her gaze turning heavy. She flicked the end of her straw away, and the silence between them stretched. Yuuri waited for an answer, oblivious to what his sister had been saying moments before. 

Finally, she sighed. “I’ll distract them around seven. I can get you maybe ten minutes.” 

Yuuri let out a breath, giving her a relieved grin. “Thanks, Mari!” He gathered his things into his arms, shoving them into his backpack, and turned into the hallway bathroom. Mari, left in his room as he rushed around to get ready, only sighed. 

* * *

Sneaking out was much, much easier than Yuuri would have thought. 

Of course, gathering the courage to do so probably would have been the hardest thing had he not been so annoyed with his parents’ hypocritical parenting. After Mari went off to distract them, Yuuri simply grabbed his duffel -- filled with his carefully folded costume and makeup bag -- and rushed towards the door. 

As he ran past the kitchen, he winced -- smoke was gathering along the ceiling and he could hear his parents’ panicked, raised voices through the thin walls. He hoped Mari didn’t do any permanent damage. 

Georgi, who he’d texted previously about the situation, was waiting at the curb with an open passenger door and a wide grin. As Yuuri dived in and slammed the door behind him, he sped off before anyone could see. 

“This is your first time sneaking out?” He shot Yuuri an amused grin. “You’re finally a teenager, huh?” 

Yuuri huffed out a breath and flipped him off, secretly glad Georgi didn’t seem to be lingering in angst for the night and settled into his seat. 

“Christophe know we’re on our way?” He asked, pulling out his phone. There was an array of notifications already filling up the screen, most of them text messages. None from his parents, yet, a few from Yura he promised to open later, and one from Mari ordering him to call her if he needed a ride home. He sent back a heart emoji, incredibly thankful to her, and opened the groupchat where a majority of the other notifications had come from. 

Victor would be slightly late, claiming in the groupchat had that he had an errand to run, but promised not to be too late. Yuuri frowned, admittedly having been looking forward to spending some more time with Victor before the party, 

“He knows I’m picking you up, but text him that we’re close,” Georgi said, answering his earlier question. Yuuri pushed his negative feelings away and typed out the message. “And tell him, no, I’m not picking up goddamn Kalteen bars, I don’t care how much he’s craving a block of sugar.” 

They arrived at Christophe's early, at least two hours before the others would start to arrive. Partly to help set up equipment and food, which only took half an hour, but mostly to get ready together, which would most definitely take longer than that. 

And, truth to Yuuri’s words, an hour later, Georgi still had their combined makeup collection spread across Christophe’s bathroom counter. They had each taken turns getting dressed in their costumes but Yuuri had yet to don the completed version of his own. Across the back of the chair remained his adorned jacket, only a half buttoned up black shirt and shorts on his own frame. 

He’d completed his own makeup and hair -- although Christophe had taken control of the routine purely out of boredom as they waited for Georgi to finish -- but they still lingered as Georgi kept reaching for more and more product. Another ten minutes of this, and the clock nearing the time for guests, Christophe and Yuuri shared a look. 

Yuuri watched as Georgi applied another layer of thick eyeliner, much to Christophe’s clear displeasure. He looked one more layer away from hiding the stick and feigning ignorance. 

“Georgi,” Yuuri started, trying to distract him from adding any more makeup. From how his hand twitched towards the eyeshadow palette -- that’d be his third layer of shadow -- Georgi was apparently considering. “What’s your costume?” It didn’t seem incredibly obvious, from his blue lipstick and rouged cheeks. 

Georgi’s eyes immediately went watery and Yuuri was already regretting it -- if Georgi started crying, he’d have black rivers down his cheeks all night. In the background, Christophe was quickly and efficiently packing up the makeup as Georgi’s attention was elsewhere. 

“Anya and I had a couple’s costume,” Georgi said, swallowing dramatically. “Sleeping Beauty and Phillip. But I’m just a lonely, lost prince forever looking for my soulmate and companion in heart but facing such adversity -” 

“You’re so fucking dramatic, Georgi,” Christophe sighed, “just say you’re a slutty prince!” 

Georgi almost looked offended. “It’s not slutty!” 

“Your costume includes booty shorts and an unbuttoned shirt,” Christophe rolled his eyes. “It’s not exactly your Sunday best.” 

“Says you.” He frowned. “And speaking of booty shorts, what are you even supposed to be?” 

“I’m a mouse, duh.” Christophe pointed to the furry set of ears balanced on his head. 

“You’re not even wearing a goddamn shirt, Christophe.” 

“If anyone’s a prince,” Christophe said loudly, interrupting the other boy, “it’s our boy, Yuuri.” 

Yuuri’s cheeks automatically darkened. “It’s just something Victor and I pulled together -” 

“Wait,” Christophe’s eyes went wide, “are you and Victor matching?” 

Yuuri’s gaze turned confused. “Yeah? Didn’t you know?” 

Christophe and Georgi turned to each other, completely wide-eyed and shocked. 

“Victor doesn’t, like, do Halloween. Or dressing up. Ever.” Christophe brightened, “This is gonna be the first year he’s actually dressed up! We have to get some photos for Instagram!” 

“He definitely won’t allow Insta photos,” Georgi added on, although he did look excited at the prospect. 

“If Yuuri asks, he will,” Christophe turned to him, his eyes bright and dancing. “Won’t you ask? It’s only a quick photo?” 

Yuuri thought about it. Victor did value his privacy and image -- probably the reason he hadn’t posed for photos years prior -- but there was no harm in asking. If Victor didn’t want to, he would have no problem telling Yuuri so. Finally, he nodded. 

Both boys grinned in excitement, and that joy seemed to carry them through their next few tasks. Georgi, successfully distracted from applying any more pastes or powders, went off into the kitchen to finish setting up the bar and keg. Yuuri followed, figuring it’d be a learning experience if anything, while Christophe remembered to hide away a few of his parents’ more delicate decor pieces. 

A few more minutes of last-minute additions and, finally, the doorbell rang out. Christophe caught his eye and gave him an excited and slightly dangerous grin as he went to answer the door. The party was starting. 

* * *

Forty-five minutes in and Yuuri was already needing a break. 

The front porch, thankfully, was a perfect respite. Christophe warned him he’d probably want to stay away from the area once the party really started -- vomiters, he warned, tended not to get far from the door -- but for now, it was perfect. He waved to classmates as they walked in and enjoyed the cool air, sweat already on his skin from the humid air inside the house. 

And, apparently, it was also perfect to keep a look out for a pink convertible.

It didn’t take much longer after Yuuri went out for some air -- ten minutes or so -- and the familiar car was pulling into a conveniently empty spot in Christophe’s driveway. Most people had to park blocks down the road and walk -- the spot must be known as Victor’s. 

Victor stepped out of the convertible and rounded the car, looking slightly hurried. Yuuri bit his lip -- even when he was rushing, Victor tended to keep a cool face. 

“Sorry, I had a thing,” Victor said vaguely as he grabbed his own jacket from the back seat, his own outfit identical to Yuuri’s in everything except the jacket color. His black fitted button up looked much better than the cheap fabric Yuuri knew it was, as did his slacks. He undid his tie, throwing it into his backseat, and unbuttoned his shirt to his middle torso, just like Yuuri’s. 

“You look good,” Yuuri told him, feeling strangely confident in his costume. His own jacket was a light blue that faded into a darker color towards the bottom, with heavy gold chains around the shoulders and middle. Victor’s was identical, except a contrasting pink to maroon. Yuuri still didn’t know how Victor had managed to procure the jackets -- especially at such high quality -- but he had no complaints, especially as he watched the other boy slide his own on and buckle the chains. 

“Here,” Yuuri reached forward as Victor struggled with the last one. Victor stepped closer so he could do it up and remained in Yuuri’s space. 

Victor grimaced, “Sorry I’m late. I…” Something shifted on his face, “I had a thing.” 

Yuuri felt all the negative emotions from earlier fade away. “Okay,” Yuuri said, his hand coming up to Victor’s face. “Is everything okay?” 

A pained expression flashed across his face but he only sighed. “I’ll let you know,” he said before forcibly brightening. “So I hear there’s a party?” 

Yuuri watched him for another moment, almost hating the mask Victor forced on for others. Still, he only gave him a small, genuine smile in return and turned back into the house. 

“Victor!” Christophe yelled as soon as they stepped into the foyer. When Yuuri stepped out, he was already on his third shot and it was starting to show. “Great costume!” 

Victor looked cool and confident with all the attention on him and only shot Christophe a knowing grin, like the rest of the party wasn’t in on some joke. Yuuri took his hand and tugged his attention back for only a brief moment, the earlier request coming back to mind. 

“Do you wanna take a photo?” Yuuri gestured to where Georgi and Christophe were waving along the wall. “They want one for Instagram.” 

A thoughtful look came over Victor’s face and he tapped one finger to his lips, considering. “On one condition.” 

Yuuri raised his eyebrows, “Yeah?” 

Victor took his hand and began pulling him towards the others. He looked at him from over his shoulder. “We have to get one by ourselves, just us.” 

Yuuri smiled. “Deal.” 

They posed for both, Emil more than happy to snap off the photos with Christophe’s then Victor’s phone, and they smiled at each other. 

Christophe and Georgi both shared a knowing look before breaking off into their own directions, Christophe beelining for one of the hockey players, Georgi going straight for the dance floor.    
Victor examined the photo after Emil handed his phone back over and his eyes went soft. 

“Look,” He tilted the phone towards Yuuri, them from only a few minutes ago frozen on the screen. They were both staring at the camera, but Victor’s arm was tight around his waist and Yuuri’s arm stretched across them to grasp at Victor’s opposite one. They looked like a true pair -- their matching costumes provided example, of course, but also with their contrasting features, similar expressions of happiness. Yuuri looked like he belonged there, at Victor’s side, in his arms. 

Yuuri swallowed and looked back up to Victor. He was already watching him.

“It’s a good photo,” He said, his words almost lost to the crowd steadily gathering around them.  

Victor’s hand found his own as the other pocketed his phone. “It is,” he agreed, something soft in his expression. He began to lead him out of the room and into another, equally crowded -- perhaps more so due to the table serving drinks along the wall. 

This seemed to be the area where most of the other debate club members were gathered, the “cool” kids area, then. Yuuri waved to a few he’d gotten on pleasant terms with -- mostly kids in his classes. Emil, who was piling drinks onto a tray Michele was holding, nearly knocked a handful over in his haste to wave and grin at them both. 

They -- Yuuri, mostly, as Victor took on a more detached personality with some of their classmates -- minged and talked with others. When Yuuri turned back to Victor, some joke on his lips, another classmate broke through the crowd.

“Jell-o shots!” Sara grinned widely, taking one for herself after settling the tray. “Who wants one?” 

Without prompt, a small plastic cup was shoved into his hands. He stared down at it for a moment, giving it an experimental sniff. 

Victor was at his side, impassive and perfect, but a spark in his eyes. He leaned in, his words only for the two of them. “Ever had it before?” 

Yuuri bit his lip. “Yuuko and I once stole a bottle of her parent’s Sake, but never…” He glanced around, the party atmosphere in full swing around them. Their peers were pressed into nearly every space of the open air living room, with a matching amount of colorful bottles and cups stacking onto every surface. JJ and Isabella were tossing back matching cups of something colorful, and Phichit’s selfie stick extended over their heads as he grinned and tossed a peace sign towards the camera. Yuuri bit his lip, looking to the more familiar faces. Chris, with a cup in his hand and grin on his face, seemed to be in his natural element. 

“Is vodka a carb?” Christophe was asking loudly with air in his voice, audible even from where Yuuri was standing, his fingers messing with the suspenders of the boy he was grinning up at. Georgi, in a nearby corner, had mascara running down his cheeks as Anya -- who must have snuck in, something Christophe would  _ not  _ be happy with -- slow-danced with another guy in the hall. To their side, a pair of jocks were intensely playing a game of beer pong. In the distance, screaming.

Yuuri looked back to Victor’s waiting presence. “Never at a party.” 

“First time for everything,” Victor was impossibly giddy. How some people thought Victor was emotionless, Yuuri would never know. It was in his eyes, and the tilt to his chin, and how the corner of his lip twitched just slightly. He could stare at Victor’s kind of happy all day. 

Yuuri took the small clear cup from the other man, watching as Victor poured them both generous classes from a bright orange bottle. Taking a smell of it, Yuuri’s nose was already wrinkled.

“It’s like, all sugar,” Victor told him, amused, as he passed the bottle on to a waiting hand. “Horrible for you skin, wonderful for getting you drunk. And the hangover, god.” Despite his words, he was already tossing back a liberal mouthful. When he pulled away, his lips were glossed from the liquid and Yuuri wanted nothing more than to taste it on his lips rather from the cup. 

Victor gestured for Yuuri to take a sip of his own drink, not noticing how dark Yuuri’s cheeks were turning with his thoughts, or maybe just ignoring it. Yuuri refused to voice his current mindset, lest he die of embarrassment, so without much else to do, he copied Victor’s motion and tossed back a mouthful of the sharp smelling pink. 

Almost immediately, he was gagging into the plastic, not expecting the sharp cut of alcohol after the sweet subtleness of the jello shot. Victor’s expression turned sympathetic. 

“Sorry,” he winced, “I forgot Chris mixed this batch, and he always makes it way too strong.” Victor patted his back, once, twice. “I’ll go get you a soda to wash it down.”

Yuuri nodded to the other man, swallowing around the horrible taste in his mouth as Victor went off into the distance. In doing this, his gaze swept over the crowd, and he paused at the flash of fiery red hair. They turned back to him, evidently looking for someone, and met his gaze. Before she could dash away in the crowd, Yuuri hurried forward. 

“Mila?” He held his drink up so it didn’t splash onto her clothes -- a zipped up hoodie and jeans -- and squinted his eyes at her. “What are you doing here?” He glanced around, panicked. “Is Yura here?”  

“Of course not, he’s probably home or something, I don't know.” Mila’s voice was light enough to be hiding something, obvious from how her eyes were jumping back and over the crowd. “And what, you’re the only one who can run with the cool kids?

Yuuri shook his head, “What? No, just -” He was nervous, to be seen talking to her. “We’re not friends here, remember?” 

Mila rolled her eyes, “Give it a break, Yuuri. Yura and I are like, completely over that. You don’t have to be an undercover plastic anymore, I release you from your duties or whatever.” 

Yuuri...wasn’t as relieved to hear that as he thought he might have. The plan was over, officially, and that was good, right? 

He tried again, “But what are you doing here, Mila?” 

Mila heaved a breath, “I just need to talk to someone real quick, then I’ll be out. It’s not I’m loving being here, you know. I hate parties.” 

“I know,” Yuuri told her patiently, because he did know. He thought quickly. “You’re here to talk to Sara, right?” 

Mila’s face screwed up, probably pissed at being figured out so fast. “I just need a few words with her, then I’ll go.” 

Yuuri attempted to keep his voice soft, difficult considering how they nearly had to yell at each other to be heard over the loud music. “Mila, I really don’t think that’ll -” 

“What, end well?” She stepped back from him, giving him a tense look. “I really think that applies to both of us, Yuuri. See you later.” With only a few steps, she disappeared into the crowd, her usually stark red hair hardly being so under the glow of the multi-color lights. He let out a breath. 

He turned, sighing and unsure if he could fight through the crowd to follow after her, when he came face-to-face with Victor, holding two cups. 

“Oh,” Yuuri gave him a strained smile, “there you are. Is that mine?” 

Yuuri automatically went to reach for it but when he did, Victor jerked it out of place. He blinked at the other man. Victor’s face was as blank as Yuuri had ever seen it, worse than when they first met. Not even an ounce of emotion. 

When he spoke, his voice was breathless. “Undercover plastic?” 

“Oh,” Yuuri breathed out, his face dropping. “Victor, I -” He cut himself off, and he had no idea what he was supposed to say next. Yuuri swallowed. 

“What does that mean?” Victor’s voice was much, much too soft with the blaring music going over both of their heads. Despite this, Yuuri could read his lips as easily as the hurt painted across his face. 

“Victor -” When Yuuri reached out, Victor flinched back, the two drinks in his hands falling to the nearest flat surface. Yuuri felt his chest crack at the sight. “Victor, please, let’s just go somewhere quiet -” 

Yuuri was yelling over the music, his hand still reaching out, but Victor acknowledged neither. People were starting to stare. 

“What does that mean,” Victor repeated, louder and stronger and edged with something almost like dread. “‘Undercover plastic?’ What does that even mean? Why were you talking to Mila?” 

Something crossed his face, like he already knew. “I can’t…”

He trailed off, his words mumbled. Victor hated mumbling. 

“Victor, it’s nothing,” Yuuri tried again, “it’s - it’s stupid. Mila and Yura, they just wanted to see what you guys were doing, and they saw you were interested in me -“ Impossibly, Victor’s jaw tightened at this. “- and they sent me in as like, an undercover plastic but - but that was just at the beginning, I promise! Victor, I swear, as soon as it started meaning something I stopped telling them stuff.”

“It always meant something to me,” Victor’s voice was low, almost too low to hear. 

Yuuri leaned in closer, trying to hear better, but the movement only seemed to snap the other man into action. 

“No,” Victor took a few steps back into the hallway, giving them an idea of privacy. Victor hated when people saw him like this, even when he was somehow fire and ice in both.  _ “I’m not plastic,”  _ Victor’s teeth were clenched, his face screwed up in as much emotion as Yuuri had ever seen on his face. “I thought you knew that. I  _ thought - _ ” he cut himself off as his voice began to crack, his jaw clenching. “You treated me like I was real. I always thought that’s how you saw me, until - until now.” With horror, Yuuri realized Victor was near tears. Oh god. 

Numbly, Victor finally finished with, “I thought we were gonna be ourselves with each other. I thought - you said -” He swallowed, “it was all a game to you, wasn’t it? Get the prettiest trophy you could find and brag about how stupid I am to believe you?” 

“Victor, it wasn’t me,” Yuuri was blinking rapidly now, trying to keep his liquid eyes from overtaking his dry cheeks, “I didn’t know, it’s not my fault -” 

_ “Stop,” _ Victor’s voice was flat, emotionless, as he composed himself. 

Even in the mostly empty hallway, Victor couldn’t stand to show his cards. He was always so measured and controlled and composed, even now, with reddening eyes and cheeks and hands that clenched at each other. 

Yuuri hated that. He loved that. He wanted to stuff that down his chest and hide it and keep it safe.

Something flashed across Victor’s fine features as he forced his feelings down, Yuuri unspeaking and hardly breathing throughout the entire ordeal. 

“At least we  _ know _ we’re cruel,” Victor was smiling some horrible bitter grin, his eyes trained on the ceiling as he rapidly blinked. “Trust me, we know what everyone says about us. But it’s okay, because we have each other and because people always want to break what can’t bend, and we’re all headed for better things. But you?” There was a slight wobble in his words. “You’re  _ mean,  _ Yuuri, so please stop  _ fucking  _ acting like none of this is your fault when this all started the moment you arrived.” 

“Victor, I’m -” Yuuri swallowed, and found he had nothing else to say, nothing truer to say, other than - “I’m sorry. I always meant to tell you. I’m _ so  _ sorry.” 

Victor’s face was completely blank now, “For what?” He paused, but he wasn’t expecting an answer. “You’re not going to break me with this, Katsuki. I won’t let anyone break me, and you’re nothing special.” 

And with that, he turned and he left. And in a completely crowded house party, well past the legal limit of occupants, Yuuri was left alone.  

He didn’t rush to follow Victor back out, he didn’t think he could with how he feet felt plastered to the ground, his arms to his sides. Minutes past, people shoved pass him, before he was finally able to move. Not far, but into the living room at least, Victor long since gone. 

Towards him, Isabella was walking through the crowd, her hair wild and shining under the lights. With a large grin, she leaned to him, her tray of colored shots in an offering. With not much other thoughts that weren’t flashing Victor’s cold hurt back at him, Yuuri took one. And then another. And another.    
And so on.    


* * *

Yuuri...wasn’t sure how he ended up here. 

Isabella had gone off with her boyfriend four shots in, which was fine because Yuuri didn’t particularly like either of them enough to hang out with them once the plastic shot glasses were empty and sticky. One of the football players, one of Emil’s friends, had frowned down at Yuuri’s swaying figure right when his drink count was reaching both hands, and dumped him off in the nearest bathroom.

Somewhere along the way, he lost his jacket, leaving him only in a barely buttoned up shirt that fell over his shoulder with every cough and shudder of his body. 

He hadn’t puked yet, which seemed to be the reason for the preventive measure put in place. But now he was lying in the bathtub, alone, blinking up at the too-bright lights that shined from alongside the mirror. The shower curtain was half pulled across the tub, and Yuuri didn’t have the energy or will to further mess with it. 

He was drunk. He hadn’t even been just tipsy, just rocket launched straight from warm into stumbling. Was this supposed to be fun? Why did people do this at parties? 

At least he wasn’t thinking about Victor anymore. Or, he was, but at least he couldn’t feel anything anymore. 

People had been coming in and out of the bathroom all night, usually getting annoyed once they realized Yuuri was stretched out in the bathtub and had no intention of leaving. The adjoining bedroom was a bit more difficult, as couples had been stumbling through the doorway with increasing frequency as the night went on. And since Yuuri had no interest in listening on as jock #4 and cheerleader #7 got it on, he’d usually just start coughing roughly -- definitely not helping his rolling stomach -- and they’d get the hint, get pissed, but eventually leave. It was a good system. He could probably stay there, in that bathtub, forever. 

God, he wished he was just sober already. He shouldn’t have left home. If -- when -- his parents realized, they were going to be furious. Maybe Mari would pick him up.    
The bedroom door attached slammed over once again, and Yuuri barely suppressed his groan. Another couple, then, their soft voices bickering quietly. Just as Yuuri was going to begin his coughing routine, his arm thrown over his eyes, another voice loudly spoke over his. 

“Sara, please.” That was Mila, Yuuri realized as he dropped his arm, squinting through the cracked open door. From where he was, he was faced with Mila’s back, with the occasional glimpse of Sara as she shifted back and forth. 

Neither of them had any idea he was there, apparently. Should he cough? But Mila had been so desperate for this meeting, and it was already so fragile. He smoothed his mouth out into a straight line and dipped a bit lower into the tub. 

Finally, Sara spoke in the sudden silence, pausing just where Yuuri could barely see her. “What do you have to say?” 

Mila took an audible breath, gearing up. She had a lot to say apparently. “I just want to know what happened, Sara. It’s been months and I haven’t heard a single word from you! We went from texting constantly and meeting in between classes and after school every day and we were going to the dance together and - and now you won’t even look me in the eye!” 

Sara’s eyes snapped to Mila’s as if to prove a point. “You know what happened, Mila. I wasn’t the only one there.” 

“Yeah,” Mila snorted, a cruel sound. “We both know you weren’t alone.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

“I know about Phichit,” she snapped, “Yura told me.” 

There was a long silence, as Sara processed those words. When she spoke, her voice was just slightly confused. “What are you even talking about? With Phichit?” 

This seemed to be Mila’s breaking point, as her voice rose in anger. “Phichit, he convinced you to dump me -” 

“Phichit didn’t do anything!” She yelled back, her hands clenched at her sides. “I’m a grown woman, Mila! He didn’t, I don’t know, flip a switch to have me turn you down!” 

Mila was determined, “We were going to go together. You had basically said yes -- we had talked about matching our dresses and meeting each other’s parents! And - and then you have this talk with Phichit in the parking lot -- and yeah, I know about that -- and suddenly, what, we’re done and out of the question?” Mila’s voice took on a desperate tint. “So what the hell happened?” 

There was a long, long moment of silence that Yuuri could feel even from his place in the bathtub. When Sara spoke up, her voice was so soft Yuuri barely caught it. “I never wanted to hurt you. I wanted to go with you,” Sara looked away, “I really did. But you didn’t want me to go as I was. Your parents wanted to meet mine, and you kept insisting about, I mean, you just -” Sara cut herself off and took a breath. “You wanted me to be  _ out _ -” 

“There’s no reason you shouldn’t be proud of who you are,” Mila told the other girl firmly. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed.” 

“I’m not embarrassed!” Sara threw her hands in the air. “I love who I am. I really, really do. But my parents…”  

“Who cares what your parents think?” Mila shot back, all fire and sparks. “My parents -”

“Your parents are hippies, Mila.” Sara was shaking her head, her hands wrapping around her own waist in a pseudo-hug. “They threw you a literal  _ party _ when you came out.”

“What does that have to do with anything -” 

“My parents aren’t like that,” Sara interrupted. “They’re traditional and conservative and I don’t  _ know  _ what they would do. My mom’s super religious, and my father pulled us out of ice skating classes when we got a new instructor because the guy was too _ feminine.  _ They love me, but I have no  _ idea  _ how they would react. _ ”  _

Mila only huffed out a breath, persistent. “It’s 2019, Sara.” 

“You say that like homophobia died or something,” she snapped, glaring at the other girl. “You may be oblivious to it, but trust me, it’s still there.” 

Mila met her glare with equal emotion, “You’re being a coward.” 

“And you’re being a bully!” Sara screamed back, her voice ragged in anguish. A sob escaped her mouth afterward, and Mila froze at the sight. 

Sara composed herself in only moments, shoving everything down deep. For a long moment, she just stared at Mila, almost as if in question. 

“I loved you, I think.” She let out a wet chuckle, shaking her head. “Hell, I probably still do.” 

Mila was staring at the other girl, so raw and open and wide-eyed Yuuri suddenly felt so horrible for trespassing on this moment. If he were able to stand, he would have slipped away minutes ago. 

Their standoff didn’t last much longer, as the door loudly creaked open and paused. A new voice joined the conversation.

“...Sara?” 

“Oh, great.” Mila was furiously wiping her cheeks. “Look who’s here. Your knight in shining armor.” 

Phichit ignored her, turning to the other girl. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Are you okay? Do you want to go? I’m DD tonight and I’m taking the first round in a few minutes.” 

Sara shot the other girl a long look, Phichit patient at her side, before she finally quietly nodded and they left together. 

Yuuri, leaning back in the bathtub, only closed his eyes in response, and tried to tune out the sound of the other girl crying in the next room over. 

* * *

After some time -- maybe hours, probably only half of one -- Mila finally quieted down from her soft crying in the next room. There was a long moment of silence, so long that Yuuri thought perhaps she had quietly left and his hand was twitching to call his sister, when he heard a soft sniffle and the close sound of her boots hitting the bathroom tile. 

This...had the potential to turn out bad. 

He quickly coughed into his shoulder, falling back on old habits apparently, and listened to her pause at the sink. He was half-hidden in the bathtub, and she slowly turned to face him. He only had to wait a few moments, half wanting to hold his breath in anticipation, half unsure if he was even able to in his current state. 

Mila threw back the shower curtain, not even looking upset at the sight of Yuuri blinking up numbly at her. She looked drained, maybe. 

She sighed, soft and low. Her arms dropped slowly. “Have you thrown up yet?” 

Yuuri could barely shake his head in disagreement, much less verbally answer. She accepted the answer and grabbed onto his forearms with surprising strength. 

“You will,” she puffed out as she heaved him to a sitting position. Tossing his legs over the side of the tub, she maneuvered him to stand, already swaying. Looks like he wouldn’t have to call Mari.    
She took his weight over her shoulder without complaint, hardly even struggling when he stumbled over the tile. With her undeniable strength, she led them out in the hallway. 

“I heard you fighting,” The words tumbled out before Yuuri could stop them. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to mess it up. You sounded sad. Are you upset?” 

A harsh breath escaped her lips, and they both pretended it was due to exertion. “I am.”

Yuuri nodded, an action that rolled his neck back and forth until he finally just dropped it to hang. Staring at the ground, Mila pushed her way through the crowd. It was a bit thinner than it had been when Yuuri first started drinking, and he wondered exactly how much time had passed. 

“If it makes you feel better, I think Victor and I are over.” Yuuri’s voice was rounded by the alcohol but weighted down with emotion. “He overheard us talking earlier.” 

Mila sighed against him, “Oh. Sorry.” 

Yuuri followed her motion as she led him through the front door and down the front steps to the street. “You too.” 

She paused, maybe to say something, maybe not, but before she could decide on either, they were interrupted.

“Hey assholes,” a new -- not new but completely unexpected -- voice growled out as they stumbled off the curb, and they paused in their steps. 

Yura was charging towards them, his hands in fists at his sides, anger lighting up his face. Mila readjusted her hold on his shoulder, cursing under her breath. 

“Leaving so soon?” Yura gestured to the party, still lively despite the late hour. “Did you guys have fun?” There was venom in every aspect in his voice. As Mila opened her mouth, he spoke over her. “Because I had  _ so much fun  _ at my student showcase, all by myself, because my fucking  _ friends _ blew me off for a fucking  _ party _ .” 

He felt Mila freeze against her, and very vaguely Yuuri remembered the poster Yura had slipped in his locker, small doodles along the borders that ordered him to  _ be there and dress nicely _ . Yuuri choked on a lump of shame. 

Mila cursed instead, “Oh,  _ fuck _ , was that tonight?”

“Yeah,” Yura sneered, looking more angry than hurt, but that was always his default. “It was tonight. And I had to fucking sit through my  _ entire exhibit _ holding onto two tickets because I fucking  _ knew _ my friends wouldn’t skip out on me for this, not when it’s been all I’ve been talking about for  _ weeks _ .” Something cracked on his face, “Even my fucking traitor cousin can show up and you two are too busy partying it up without even thinking about me.”  

“Yura, we’re so sorry -” 

“Shut up,” Yura’s teeth were clenched tightly, giving Mila no time for her apology. “Just shut  _ up.”  _

“How - how did you get here?” Yuuri barely managed the words, and Yura looked disgusted with his drunkenness. “Did you walk from the school?” 

He was hardly taking in words, but something about Yura’s earlier words rang with him. Did he say something about his cousin, about Victor? 

“Of course not,” he bit out, some guarded emotion in his eyes. “Otabek drove me. Once he heard what a pair of piece of shit friends you are, he offered me a ride home. This was on the way.”    
Yuuri turned his head slightly, and there the other boy was, standing just off to Yura’s side. Otabek, quiet with dark eyes, who was watching their exchange with an uninterested face. He seemed content to allow Yura to go off all he wanted, in the middle of a random neighborhood, in the middle of the night while he waited a few feet behind with a motorcycle at his side.

Mila gave the other boy a suspicious look. “Yura, c’mon. I’ll drive you home. We can talk about this in the car -” 

“Oh,” Yura let out a bitter laugh, “now you’re ready to start being a good friend? Classic Mila, too little, too late.” 

Her jaw snapped closed, and there was something else to that statement that Yuuri was definitely missing. At her following silence, Yura flickered his fury onto Yuuri’s slumped over figure. 

“And I can’t believe you’re seriously dating Victor,” Yura spat out, “and even worse, I had to hear about it from  _ school gossip.”  _

“Yura -” 

“No!” Yura scowled. “I don’t want to hear your fucking lame-ass excuses, don’t think I haven’t noticed how much you’re starting to become just as hollow and vapid as the rest of them. Congratulations, Yuuri Katsuki, you’ve got everything you’ve ever wanted -- you’re a real  _ fucking  _ plastic.” 

“Yura,” Mila started, her voice defensive, but the younger boy wasn’t having any of that. 

_ “Fuck you both,” _ he spat out, the harshness in his voice not even enough to drown out the rough crack. “All I wanted was for you to show up, and that was apparently too much to _ fucking _ ask.” Yura was panting with anger, nearly shaking with it too, as he finished. “You _ just _ had to show up.”

There was a long, long moment of silence, as they stared off at each other. Yuuri had no idea where to even begin. 

Yura was done waiting. He shook his head, his hands clenched at his sides, before turning sharply. “C’mon, Otabek. Let’s get out of here.” 

Otabek shot them a single, quick look, blank in emotion but still speaking for itself. He followed the other boy, climbing onto the bike first, and started up the engine. 

“We’re bad friends,” Mila’s voice was numb as they stared off into the distance, the bike disappearing down the road. “All he wanted was for us to be there.” 

Yuuri clenched his jaw, swallowing against the sudden tightness in his throat. “You were right,” he told her as he jerked away from her steady grip, and promptly vomited onto the street.    


* * *

Mila, who hadn’t had a single drink the entire night, drove them back to Yuuri’s house as he curled into a ball in her backseat and tried to keep his gagging to a minimum. After all the mistakes he had made tonight, throwing up in her backseat would not be added to the list. 

He waved off her attempt to lead him to the door -- he had already embarrassed himself enough that night and after throwing up he’d slowly regained enough stability to stumble up his front lawn. 

He sighed, staring up at his bedroom window. There was no getting back up. 

The front door was unlocked at least, although that seemed to be the end of his good luck. Barely a few steps in, the door not even shut completely behind him, he noticed the two lingering figures at the kitchen table. They stood, staring him down, and there was a moment of silence before his mother finally burst open with it. 

_ “It’s two in the morning.” _ She was angry and scared and confused all in one, her hands firm on her hips. “Where were you? What do you have to say for yourself?” 

He stared at them, their mixed emotions matching his turning stomach. He didn’t know what to do. He had no idea what to say, he could hardly process anything he was feeling. After everything that had happened that night -- with Victor and Mila and Yura -- now his parents were staring with disappointment and confusion. 

And Yuuri was drunk, and he could hardly handle disappointment on a good day when he wasn’t moments away from choking on emotion, and in one moment to the next, he was sobbing.    
Both of his parents froze, his mother’s words pausing as they left her mouth. There was a long horrible moment of silence, Yuuri’s gross, snotty tears being the only filler. 

His father stepped towards him, his hands ghosting over Yuuri’s exposed skin. “Yuuri...is everything…”

“I’m sorry,” he hiccuped, tugging his open shirt closed, “I-I wasn’t thinking and I’m sorry for worrying you and for keeping you up.”

He could hear the frown in his father’s voice as he asked, “Were you drinking?” 

His mother hushed off his father’s words, suddenly protective as her arm came up behind him. “How much did you drink? Have you gotten sick?” 

“A lot,” Yuuri was now leaning against his mother, the back of his throat starting to roll with nauseousness. “I threw up. Mila was so sad.” 

“Mila?” His mother’s low voice asked softly, a question not for him, before her hands were guiding him towards the hallway. He was still mostly thrown over her shoulder and swayed back and forth with every step. She was stronger than he thought, holding him up. 

The next thing he knew he was in bed, and his mother’s hand was on his forehead, and the side of the bed was being weighed down as she leaned on the mattress. He blinked through the darkness, at his parents low shared Japanese, and decided that all of this would be better dealt with in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes i increased the chapter count but this thing was becoming a monster so i just cut it in half  
> angst!!!! sub-plots!!!! o yuuri. what have you done.   
> so so so sorry this took so long! im hoping to have the last chapter up before my internship starts at the end of may, this semester has been crazy!   
> follow me on tumblr if that platform hasn't drained the life from you already rosyredlipstick.tumblr.com  
> next chapter is much less angst i promise  
> also ??? the mila/sara subplot? im much more devoted to that than i thought wow. also the fam tension with victor ad yura??? would devote an entire story  
> ok it's 5am here GOODNIGHT YALL LET ME KNOW IF YOU ENJOYED


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